


Not Now, Spouse

by you_know_its_actually_funny



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Acting Student AU, Actor Loki, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Body Dysphoria, Crossdressing, Drunkenness, Dysfunctional Family, Eventual relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Drama, Feelings, Fluff, Gender Issues, Genderfluid Loki, Howard is an asshole, Humor, Kissing, Lies that Escalate, Loki is a Diva, M/M, Self-Loathing, Shitty Dads Club, Swearing, The Real House-Husbands of New York, Tony Has Issues, body issues, literally everyone's a bitch to each other, started with plot but now used as a self help ranting tool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 02:43:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5030599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_know_its_actually_funny/pseuds/you_know_its_actually_funny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Did you just ask me if I wanted to act as your boyfriend for a weekend?”</p><p>“Yes. Sorry, I have, like, a problem when it comes to—”</p><p>“How much?”</p><p>“Excuse me?” </p><p>Tony's talked his way into a ditch he can't get himself out of. Loki's a broke acting student who wants to be the best. They find each other in a Starbucks and well, it's not too complicated after that. Until it gets really, really complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A-Something-Latte

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [亲爱的别闹](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13255803) by [WhoreofBabylon (Fayland)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fayland/pseuds/WhoreofBabylon)



> this is the literature equivalent of a gay shitpost. im not proud. joel if you're reading this stop now. STOP.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

 

Tony Stark stops in the middle of the street, letting people knock his shoulders as they hurry past him. He stares at his phone.

 

_We’re coming over for Thanksgiving._

 

His face turns green as he reads on.

 

_Can’t wait to meet your ‘partner’, you’ve kept us in much anticipation._

 

And finally the perfect ending to his little horror story:

 

_See you soon, Dad._

 

His mouth is dry. Of course he would do this, the bastard. Let him think he was getting off easy and actually act excited and civil towards him for the first time in his _life_ —

 

Yeah, ok, for the past year Tony’s created a fake relationship…mostly to avoid his family. It started off all fine and dandy. _‘Oh, you’re having a special lunch that day? That’s fine, we’ll come another time’_. _‘Oh, you’re having a special getaway that weekend? That’s ok, hope it goes well’_. It was fucking genius and it was working.

 

Until it didn’t.

 

He should have fed them details. He should have given them names, last names, childhood homes, a fucking Chihuahua, but no, he kept them in the dark, didn’t even give them a godamn _gender_.  And he _knew_ it was getting ridiculous for them, _knew_ he should have fake-broken-it-off months ago and now his entire family is coming over to see how much he’s gotten his life together.

 

Howard won’t care. He knows Tony’s partner is fake and is probably coming down to watch Tony squirm as he explains the embarrassing situation to a heartbroken Maria and give him _that_ smirk, that smirk that means he’s won.

 

Tony’s inside a Starbucks. His legs must’ve taken him there whilst he was gruelling over his life and he finds himself liking the decision. Smoothing his hair back, he joins the queue and returns his gaze to his phone.

 

_Sounds great, can’t wait for you all to meet them.  
Tony._

 

He needs a plan. He needs to prepare himself. Maybe he could walk into oncoming traffic and break it to his mother on an operating table. She couldn’t stay angry with his legs in casts. But his father would still give him that smirk and just thinking about it makes Tony dig his nails into his skin.

 

He does a search for ‘people who you can hire to pretend to be your girlfriend/boyfriend for a weekend’. A surprising amount of results. He shakes his head and closes the browser before clicking on any links. Stupid, ridiculous idea. Plus it would take too long. Today is Friday and it is a grim one.

 

“Next.”

 

A new register opens and he wanders over to it. He looks up from his phone.

 

Long black hair. Sheet-white skin. Green eyes.

 

“How can I help you?”

 

And _British_. Fucking _British_.

 

God how his mother would swoon if he found himself a British man. How she would flail over those pretty green eyes and say how Tony’s found himself a keeper and how happy it made her, and how Howard would have to look on at Tony’s arm around his waist and smug face and _seethe_.

 

“Sir, can I help you?”

 

Tony blinks at him. His badge says Loki. Fucking _Loki_.

 

“Um…” He surveys the menu board like you’re supposed to do and then quickly babbles a-something-latte. Loki ( _was that even allowed to be put on a birth certificate?_ ) smiles that dead-eyed smile that all cash register workers have and starts pressing at buttons.

 

“Would you like anything else today?”

 

“No thank you. Would you like to pretend to be my boyfriend for the weekend?”

 

Tony immediately starts to rethink the oncoming traffic idea. The poor kids’ face has lost what little colour it had, mouth slightly agape. The entire café suddenly sounds deathly silent, like the horrifying awkwardness of the situation has sucked out all the noise in the world. He hopes gravity will do the same so he can gently float away and decompress into space.

 

 “I am so, _so_ sorry-”

 

“Who are you?”

 

Tony glances up. Suddenly the bright green eyes have hardened and the soft face has taken on new angles Tony hadn’t noticed before. Like all the bullshit of the hospitality industry has washed off to present the cynical hardness of _Loki_.

 

“Huh? I’m Ton- Anthony, I’m—yeah.”

 

Loki narrows his eyes, not exactly in an unfriendly manner.

 

“Did you just ask me if I wanted to act as your boyfriend for a weekend?”

 

“Yes. Sorry, I have, like, a problem when it comes to—”

 

“How much?”

 

And suddenly the hardness in his eyes, the scratchy Starbucks employee shirt, the smudged name tag, the youth and exhaustion in his face, it all seems so much clearer. College student.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

A worker silently places a-something-latte on the counter.

 

“If you seriously require my services then you have to pay me.”

 

“What? Dude, that was me speaking without thinking, I’m not really-”

 

“Fine, forget it.”

 

“A grand.”

 

Loki looks up as Tony’s receipt prints with a buzz. “One thousand dollars.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Upfront.”

 

“What? Ok.”

 

Loki starts scribbling on the receipt. Finally he pushes that and the latte across the counter and when he looks at Tony the bullshit, happy face is back. “Ok. Thank you and please come again.”

 

Tony walks out the café with Loki’s number thinking what the fuck just happened. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tadaaahahaaha


	2. The Drama Student

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony finds out who he's dealing with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy average-writing this got a lot more notes and kudos than I expected. Thank you all so much for liking the start of my silly story! As a warning, I am quite shit at updating, so if there comes a chapter that I just can't seem to spit out then don't worry, I swear haven't given up just yet.

The world really doesn't appreciate Loki enough.

 

His classmates don't. The instructor will ask for someone to be the example and Loki, who has memorized every important Shakespeare soloist speech in history, would volunteer, delivering every word perfectly. Loki is always perfect. Loki is always the example.

 

And how his classmates _detest_ him. How they roll their eyes and grit their teeth and mutter under their breath.

 

(Of course whatever they mutter couldn't be criticism, because Loki is flawless.)

 

He supposes jealously is a twisted version of appreciation. He likes the way they all envy him, with his big expressive eyes and skin that illuminates under stage light.

 

What they don't realize is all his talent takes _work_. He doesn't go to parties or drink jelly shots or twerk to loud, thumping music. He doesn't skip class to go to concerts or shopping or the premiere of some rebooted Rocky Horror Picture Show nonsense (although he has the entire script memorized, he's not opposed to musicals in his career).

 

He bust his _ass_. He made honour roll all throughout high school and had a part-time job, on top of taking up special classes and small side jobs for his acting. He worked _hard_ to get into the school he's at, unlike all these jealous, stupid rich kids who decided to take up acting because ' _oh I might get to meet Robert De Niro at my graduation_ '.

 

He wasn't here because he took some of daddy's money and decided he likes the idea of wearing a glamorous Gucci suit on a red carpet filled with celebrities. He is here because he wants to be the _only_ one on the red carpet in a Gucci suit, and he will kick and shove anyone who dares to want to join him.

 

Money helps, in this situation. Hense, Starbucks. And Olive Garden. And the campus bookstore. Telling Odin to fuck off might've been a bit hasty. But he's still adamant that his decision was a good one. Being independent is great. He is following his dream. He is _making it_.

 

He has $4.05 in his wallet.

 

Then someone is standing in front of his register at some place he works (it must be Starbucks, he's handing out coffees, he hasn't slept in two days) and is asking if he wants to be his boyfriend. He's not unfamiliar with the request. But no, as he processes the words over his sloshy frontal lobe, the man said _pretend_. Act.

 

Loki has always been impulsive. You have to be, in his career. You have to be ready to go and do whatever it takes to get to the top.

 

The man is older than him, although not by too much, and his hair is a scruffy mop of golden brown. His eyes are hiding behind dark aviators and he's wearing quite a bit of leather. Stubble sprinkles his jaw, looking like he's trying to grow it out rather than forgotten to shave. He looks very Hollywood. Or very creepy. Loki will take the chance.

 

When the man gives him his name he doesn't recognize it. Anthony. Or Tony, he didn't really make up his mind. His last name better be more interesting, but that can come later. He hasn't gotten a side job in months. He needs to up his street cred. Then he can freelance it and drop out of school and leave those pompous idiots and he'll become an inspirational rags to riches story.

 

He wasn't expecting a thousand dollars. The man has obviously never done this before. Usually Loki would have to negotiate for days to get sniff at a fifty. One thousand _upfront_? Was the man an idiot?

 

So yes, Loki is feeling better about his decision every passing minute. So he gives him his number and sends him on his way with his honey malt chai latte.

 

—

 

He's a fucking _drama student_.

 

Tony had been quick to do a google search on his new boyfriend/con-artist/actor/hooker(?) while waiting for him to arrive at his apartment, and what he finds is surprising to say the least. His name is Loki Odinson, as in Odinson Corporation, real estate empire. He'd heard of the Odinson's vaguely but never to much extent. The Starks are technology and weapons. They work on arming folk, not housing them.

 

Apparently Loki had been dropped from the family name a year ago. Not officially, but you'd think otherwise by the way his photo has been removed from family listings and how articles loved to express how adopted he was. He was cut off from the money, the inheritance, the company and was studying acting. And was fucking _good_ at it, apparently.

 

Of all the people to freak out in a Starbucks.

 

Loki arrives not ten minutes after Tony sends the text. Tony opens the door and Loki walks in wearing a long trench coat over yet another part-time job. He smells of garlic. Olive Garden.

 

As he chucks a messenger bag onto an armchair and shrugs off the coat Tony gets a good look at him for the first time. He's slim, very much so, and his skin is just as pale and flawless as his face everywhere else on his body. The kid looks like he's never stepped outside. His hair goes to the nape of his neck in soft flowing locks, black as space. He has a bit of a fringe that was pushed back when he first saw him, but now it falls limp over his forehead. And he has a nice ass, but now was not the time to appreciate it.

 

His jeans are dark and starting to get ratty around the edges, reminding him of how very much cut off Loki is from Odin's money. He swallows as he looks around his Manhattan apartment filled with lavish furniture, city views and wide screen TVs. He's dressed in soft cotton after showering in his high-pressure, floor heated bathroom.

 

"Um, make yourself at home, I guess."

 

Loki drops his coat on the sofa and looks around, hand on hip.

 

"So, my job is to act as your romantic interest for a weekend?"

 

Ah yes, the fucked up situation Tony's mouth got him into.

 

"Uh, yeah."

 

"You're Tony Stark."

 

He's not the only one who's been Googling.

 

"Yes."

 

"Of Stark Industries."

 

"Yes."

 

"I want five thousand."

 

"What? Ok."

 

Loki looks somewhat disturbed.

 

"You're just going to give me five thousand dollars?" he asks carefully. "What situation are you in, exactly?"

 

Tony sighs and sits down on the sofa. "I...have pretended to have a boyfriend, or really a partner— _someone_ —for a year. To escape my family. And now my family is coming down to see them and my mom will cry and I can't stand my father looking at me with that _smirk_ like the asshole he is."

 

Loki didn't answer for a while.

 

"You are willing to pay a random stranger five thousand dollars to piss off your father?"

 

When Tony looks at him he doesn't see fear, or contempt or disgust or anything he was expecting to see. He sees humour; he's entire face has lit up and the corners of his mouth are slightly twitching upwards. His eyes have a new intensity in them. Tony would even say he looked somewhat aroused.

 

Daddy issues.

 

Tony nods, slowly. Loki grins.

 

"Well then, darling, when do we begin?"

 

Tony's mouth drops open. _This was the best idea_.

 

He lets Loki shower to get the smell of burnt bread out of his hair. When he emerges he's in a spare change of clothes he must've brought with him, a V-necked green shirt and baggy woollen pants. It's almost 10PM when they both are in the living room again and Tony's handing Loki a sheet.

 

"What's this?" Loki asks, looking over it.

 

"General information about me. If we've been dating for a year then you'll have to at least know some of this stuff." If this was actually happening, it was happening right. No holes could be found in his story.

 

Loki takes the paper in his mouth as he puts his hair up in a ponytail. When he's done he looks at it for a couple moments. "You're twenty five?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"But you're an honorary professor at MIT."

 

"Yeah. I created the world's first AI and probably debunked a couple string theories, I don't know." Loki raises an eyebrow. Tony clears his throat. "We really just have to go over the details of our fake relationship. It's only one dinner."

 

"I can cry."

 

Tony looks up. Loki is staring at him with that intensity again.

 

"…what?"

 

"I can cry on command. I just want you to know, if it was needed."

 

"Um, yeah, we kinda want to portray a happy relationship? So I don't think crying is needed."

 

Loki shrugs. "Alright, I just personally think tearing up can be very romantic, but whatever you want."

 

Tony takes a moment. "Ok." _Fucking actors_.

 

"Aw, you had a butler growing up." Loki's gone back to reading Tony's life. Tony nods.

 

"Jarvis."

 

"Is he going to be at the dinner?"

 

"He's dead."

 

"Oh."

 

"Yeah."

 

"Should I cry if he's mentioned?"

 

" _No crying_ , jesus." He swears to god Loki _pouts_ and doesn't say anything more. "Ok," he looks at the spread sheets on the coffee table. "Over the year we've been on five fake dates."

 

"Only five?"

 

"Hey, one was an expensive weekend getaway thank you very much."

 

"Doing what?"

 

"I don't know, camping?"

 

"I hate camping."

 

"Then a weekend in Atlantic City."

 

"I hate New Jersey."

 

"Well _fuck_ , I don't know, what do you like?"

 

"Do you really expect to sell the idea that we've been together for a year like this?"

 

Tony huffs. "Ok, fine. Tell me about yourself."

 

Loki's face suddenly lights up again. "Me or fake-me?"

 

"I don't care. Whatever."

 

He realizes his mistake when Loki grins, looking off into the empty space of the room with a horrible look of inspiration. Idiot. He has just told the next William Shatner that he can be anything he wants. "Actually," he says quickly, "let's just stick with you, we don't have time."

 

The expression drops off Loki's face and Tony lets out a breath. Loki crosses his arms and looks at the sheet again. "Fine."

 

"Alright, cool. So what do you like?"

 

Loki shrugs. "Movies. Shakespeare. Books. Food."

 

"Great. I'm loving the ' _indistinguishable from every other person on earth_ ' vibe." Loki huffs and turns his head away. The guy is so damn dramatic he really can't tell if this is him or if he's trying to audition for something. Tony sighs and sits back. "Ok, where would've _you_ liked to go on our weekend getaway?"

 

Loki thinks for a bit, chewing his lip. "Somewhere near the beach."

 

"Do you like the beach?"

 

"Yeah." Loki smiles. Tony nods encouragingly.

 

"Sure. Beach. I could find a beach."

 

"What about the other dates?"

 

Tony shrugs. "Olive Garden?"

 

"I work at Olive Garden," Loki says through gritted teeth. Tony winces.

 

"Yeahhhh…no you don't." Loki looks almost challenged.

 

"I don't?"

 

"No. Or Starbucks. What about an internship?"

 

"In LA?"

 

"Sure."

 

He might've well actually given him the internship. Loki grins and slicks a few strands of his fringe back as if to say ' _damn right_ '.

 

"Alright," he says, stepping around the coffee table until he's practically _looming_ over Tony. "Once we're at the dinner we have to start acting like a couple. Romantic interests' behaviour towards each other can be very different depending on how much time they've been dating. We've been together for a year so avoid stupid staring for long periods of time or excessive touching. Pet names should be sensible but if you do call me something stupid then it must have a cute backstory to it. You have to know how I like my drinks and if I like gravy and we should at least have three inside jokes."

 

Tony stares at the acting major.

 

"Also, people who are in love stare when the other isn't looking and they stare at the eyes. People who are in lust stare at lips." Finishing with a breath, he sits down next to Tony. "So we should probably practise holding hands."

 

Tony can't get a word out before Loki reaches out and grabs his hand, entwining their fingers. His hand is cool and he's suddenly very self-conscious about his clammy one. He immediately stands, drawing away. "Ah yeah, not doing this sober."

 

Loki glares. "If you're not going to take this seriously-"

 

"I am taking this seriously! This is five thousand dollars of my hard earned inherited money we're talking about here. I am paying attention. How do you like your drinks, _dear_?"

 

"Call me that and you can forget the whole thing, five grand or not, _honey_."

 

"Ok," Tony smirks, ducking down to a glass cabinet filled with bottles. "How about babe? It's normal, simple, but still reeks 'young love'." He pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniel's and two glasses.

 

"Acceptable. And I prefer spirits."

 

Tony looks at Loki with surprise and newfound respect as he ducks down again. Eventually he sits back down on the couch with a small bottle of lollied vodka and a larger bottle of gin. He stares at the collection, humming, before getting up and grabbing a couple cans of lemonade as well. He wants them tipsy, not dead.

 

"Ok, _babe_ ," he says, mixing Loki a drink. He shakes his head as he passes it to him. "Ugh, no, this is so weird. I've known you for an hour."

 

"Well, I don't exactly have the excuse of 'buy me a drink first' anymore," Loki says, taking a sip. Tony chuckles and pours himself a Jack Daniel's and downs it.

 

"Yeah. Hey…why the fuck are you doing this? I Googled you. I know who you are. But I don't think any sane person would agree to this."

 

Loki hums around the lip of the glass, finishing off the drink. He immediately starts mixing a new one, a different mixture to Tony's and he mentally takes notes. "I'm an acting student. I take every opportunity I can."

 

"I'm not sure I can write you a reference for this one."

 

Loki smiles. "Mmm. Renowned acting academies cost money unfortunately, so you are helping me."

 

Tony watches him drink, staring at his lips. Then he remembers to stare at his eyes and quickly adjusts. "Why are you in acting?"

 

Nothing in Loki's face changes significantly. He gives a nonchalant shrug. "I've always been interested in it. I've just always known I wanted to be an actor." He finishes another drink and refills. Tony starts to worry at how fast he's going, but then again if anything is going to break the ice and make things less awkward for both of them, it's alcohol. "What about you, Tony Stark?" he asks, looking at him from the corner of his eye. "What are your life aspirations?"

 

Tony lets out a long breath and joins Loki in refilling his glass. "Well, mostly, it's lying around and spending my parent's money, maybe some inventing here and there…then I die, I guess."

 

Tony takes a moment to mull over the question. His young brain shooting alcohol through his veins won't make him stop mulling anytime soon. As far as he knows, his life is already decided for him. He'll inherit the company when his father deems him old enough and from then on it's going to be paparazzi, showgirls, extravagant parties, contract signings, board meetings and drinking himself to an early grave. Just like his father. Sure, he'll invent ground-breaking technology in the meantime if he wants. Maybe he'll find a nice wife to settle down with and have a kid to fuck up. Just like his father.

 

Loki giggles, and Tony is shocked at the sound. He wasn't expecting something that bubbly to come out of Loki's mouth. When he looks up he sees that Loki's moved onto his fourth drink. "How horrible for you. To have a billion dollars to spend." He sighs dramatically. "So hard."

 

Tony scowls. "Fuck you, poor person."

 

"Not for long," Loki remarks, waggling his finger. "You promised upfront."

 

"Ugh," Tony rubs a few creases in his forehead, "can we not handle money with drinks in our hands? Brings back bad memories. Besides, I thought we were practising something." He looks at the man next to him. "Babe."

 

"Much better. Less forced." Loki entwines their fingers again. Tony still winces at how sweaty he is. His whole apartment is temperature controlled; this is ridiculous. Loki's hands being the softest hands in all the world isn't helping either.

 

"Your hand's so much nicer than mine though. I feel so self-conscious." Loki looks surprised and glances down, looking at the milky white against tan.

 

"Your hand is fine. I like the…colour."

 

Tony downs another drink. "Aw…you're just saying that."

 

Loki snorts and begins using his free arm to mix another drink. After trying and failing Tony pitches in to help, manoeuvring his spare limb to grab at bottles and cans. They fumble and spill gin everywhere with a collection of snorts and giggles, but eventually Loki has a new drink. "Thank you," he smiles, bringing it to his lips.

 

For an unnoticed amount of time they drink and discuss, getting more and more off topic. They agree on certain details of their relationship: they met at a Broadway show and after five different arguments about which one it should be they settled on The Lion King (Tony cringes just thinking about explaining _that_ one to his parents), for their first date they went to the movies and for their second they went to Olive Garden (as much as Loki detests it he likes the lasagna), and for their weekend getaway Loki settled for a beach-side hotel in New Jersey. When asked Tony decides Loki can keep his last name—unless his Dad was feeling more 'asshole' than usual he wouldn't use Loki's cast-out status to embarrass him, and besides, Tony's sure Howard doesn't know enough about the Odinson's to care.

 

Soon an alarming amount of vodka and Jack Daniel's is left. Loki stopped mixing his drinks a while ago and his behaviour shows—not that Tony's behaviour is any better. The lights in the room are getting brighter, the edges getting fuzzier, words getting slipperier and Loki's getting prettier.

 

He really should start ignoring the last part. But he just _swears_ the V-neck on that shirt drops lower every minute.

 

They were still holding hands.

 

"Ok, what do _you_ hate most about your dad?" Loki slurs, now leaning against the plush sofa-back with his legs sprawled out. Apparently the more drunk Loki gets, the more room he takes up.

 

"Pffffftttt, _one_?" His voice is getting louder and his tone is getting an annoying whine to it, but he can't help it. He's glad Loki is numb to appropriate voice volume right now. "I don't know." He takes a sip of air from his empty glass for the third time in a row. "Probably his face."

 

"I know right!" It turns out Loki turns into one of the Sex and the City girls when he's intoxicated. "Mine just has this… _look_ …that just…fucking…it's like you've just come home from _one night of your fucking LIFE_ where you've had fun, and he's just standing there glaring with his one eye, like…" he does an imitation of what looks like a slightly cross-eyed bulldog. "And it's like, fuck off, you know?"

 

"Totally! Mine has this _smirk_ that he does when he _knows_ your about to humiliate yourself, and it's like, shit, because I have his face too, like I have to deal with that every time I look in a fucking mirror." He finally puts down his glass and picks up the bottle of gin and takes a swing. He grimaces, hard. "You're so lucky your adopted, man."

 

Loki scoffs bitterly. "Fuck you. I hate myself."

 

Tony whips his head up. "No, ohmygod, you're so pretty."

 

Loki makes another noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "No." He slips his hand away and Tony actually whines. "I'm too skinny and too pale. My brother's the perfect one. _Thor_." He spits the name like bile.

 

"Noooooooo," Tony says quietly, getting up onto his knees. "Your skin is so soft. And your eyes are Disney Princess."

 

Loki looks up with said eyes, slightly glassy. "Really? I'm Disney Princess?"

 

"Toats, babe."

 

They stare at each other. That fucking intensity. Tony wants to…lick it. Yeah. His ruined brain is so right.

 

Tony inches forward, closer and closer, not noticing to how Loki doesn't, how he looks very confused, how he slightly leans away, and then looks slightly scared and how he then swings his arm around and—

 

Tony gets knocked off the couch, head spinning. He groans into the carpet. Blood fills his mouth. _Ow_. He can hear Loki's harsh breathing and when he strains his head to look up at him he's raised to his knees, fist still clenched.

 

"If you ever touch me without me wanting to I will kill you!" he screams. He steps off the couch and stands by Tony's head and ducks down to shout in his ear. "You are nothing, Stark! _Don't touch me!_ "

 

Then there's glass bottles clinking together and bare feet padding away and a bedroom door slamming. Tony is left alone.

 

He grunts as he lifts himself up off the floor. He doesn't have the ability to process what just happened, a habit his mind seems to have around Loki. Wiping his mouth he lazily looks around and ends up grabbing a throw rug lying over one of the arm chairs and snuggling up with it on the couch. It isn't long before the pain in his jaw numbs along with his brain and he stumbles and falls into a slumber.


	3. Koi Fish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koi is a type of common Japanese carp.

The first thing Loki thinks when he wakes up is _this is not my bed_. The second is _what army of wasps have made their way into my brain_.

 

He thinks about getting up. The bed he’s in is incredibly soft, like sleeping in a silk cocoon, with plump pillows and a mattress that has the perfect amount of stiffness to it. But he knows he has to get up. He comes to the realization with a whine. This is not his bed and this is not his house and he should at least check to see if he’s got clothes on.

 

Loki doesn’t do hangovers. He has minimal experience with them and hasn’t had the time to read any manuals on the matter. He’s seen other people hungover. That’s when he usually decides he is above dragging himself inch by inch like a pathetic worm on the floor.

 

Alas, his head feels like it’s being drilled into with a blunt spoon.

 

He whines again and decides to do it like a band aid, just jump out of bed and race to the bathroom. He throws the beautiful quilt off him and stands up.

 

He awakes maybe a few seconds after, collapsed on the floor. _Fuck me_.

 

Attempt two is somewhat handled with more care. He slowly lifts himself off the carpet, shaking, when he suddenly feels a rush of nausea shoot straight up his throat. Immediately he ditches the slow and steady plan in favour of making a mad sprint to what he hopes is an en-suite, collapsing on the toilet bowel and throwing up last night’s regrets.

 

After worshiping the porcelain for a good few minutes and feeling his head clear somewhat, Loki starts pulling his clothes off and stumbles into a gloriously big shower, avoiding the mirror. He turns knobs this way and that until a pleasant pressure of warm water is spraying on his head.

 

When he steps out, dripping from head to toe, his head is still swimming in bio hazardous waste, but at least he can think straight. He dries and redresses himself into his green V-neck and greasy work jeans and walks out into the lounge room, still with a slight stumble.

 

Tony Stark is sleeping on the couch, drool leaking from his mouth.         

 

Oh. Right. The job.

 

Tony Stark is an interesting character, to say the least. Johnny Depp looking. At first Loki thought he was an idiot but he was blatantly corrected last evening— Stark is an idiot _genius_. Stark Industries was everywhere when Loki was young, in daily conversation, news reports and radio, all talking about the constant controversy that was Howard Stark. Then Howard Stark had a kid, and then all they could talk about was him, about how he created his first engine at four or graduated high school at twelve. Needless to say, Loki had heard of Tony Stark.

 

The news and paparazzi has died down since Tony grew up started joining colleges, but that doesn’t matter. Stark is a certified celebrity and just what Loki needs. Sure, he can’t exactly have a reference letter from Mr Stark after this particular job, but imagine if some paparazzi showed up when they were out in the open together. Loki would suddenly be upgraded from ‘disgraced acting student nobody’ to ‘that somebody that showed up with Tony Stark that one time at that one place who might be banging him according to that one article’.

 

Street cred.

 

But when you remove all of that, Tony Stark isn’t as insufferable as Loki had feared him to be, with his dark sunglasses and heated tiles in the bathroom. He is strange and insecure and doing all of this because he hates his father. That, he at least finds a kindred spirit in.

 

But the unprofessional-ism is uneasy. Loki gets the feeling Tony is used to mixing business with pleasure, and even though this job is undercover and beyond even the subtle concept of normal, he doesn’t appreciate the nauseous drilling in his head.

 

_Five thousand dollars, Loki._

 

He lets Stark sleep and wanders over to the messenger bag left on the armchair, trying to ignore the empty bottles of gin and vodka on the table. He slips his phone out of the front pocket and checks it. 10AM. November 25th. Four messages.

 

He drops the device on the pillows and stumbles into the sleek white kitchen. An island stands proud in the middle of the square formation, counters all the same polished sand-stone. A high-end coffee maker is already brewing a specifically expensive brand of coffee beans. Loki grinds his teeth together, realizes it makes the headache worse, and stops with a sigh. He will not be jealous of Stark. He will not look at all these things and think of home. He will not be _petty_.

 

(He will ignore that stupid voice in the back of his head that thinks how absurd he is to take this job, how it’s not _street cred_ but more like whoring himself out for money, how stupid he is for moving out, for ruining Christmas and ever thinking he could ever make it as a stupid actor.)

 

(He ignores the part that wants his Mum.)

 

A hot mug of the best coffee he’s ever tasted is half finished when Stark walks in. Loki can see from his seat at the kitchen island the way he drags himself off the couch as if it were fused into him and slowly make his way to the coffee machine. His legs are far sturdier than Loki’s were first thing out of bed and Loki puts it down to experience, not talent.

 

“Good morning,” Loki says, a bit awkwardly, as Tony pours himself a cup. He doesn’t reply, doesn’t seem to be coherent. Loki won’t be surprised if Stark has forgotten most of last night, or even that Loki is here at all.

 

But no, Stark finally mumbles a response after a while and sits down across from him. It’s then Loki sees the angry bruise on the side of Tony’s jaw, a disturbing shade of purple. His eyes fly open.

 

“What happened to your face?”

 

Stark raises his head, slowly. He stares at Loki. “What happened?” he repeats. He points a finger to his chin. “ _You_ fucking happened.”

 

“What?”

 

“You fucking punched me in the mouth.”

 

They stare at each other in silence.

 

“I did not.”

 

“ _Uh_ , yes you did.”

 

“Why would I punch you?”

 

This time Tony’s face goes a little green, which is what Loki expected in the first place from a man with an empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s on his table. He scrubs his face over with a hand.

 

“Because I’m me,” he says in defeat. “I’m sorry, I’m fine, it doesn’t hurt. Did you sleep well? Actually no, fuck you, that was my bed, I slept like shit. You want an Aspirin?”

 

This is not helping Loki’s head. He nods at the Aspirin part and thankfully Stark obliges, standing up and opening cabinets. Loki sits stiffly. He wants to make conversation, but Tony has already covered the ‘how did you sleep’ category and he honestly can’t think of much else. He considers bringing up money again, but decides against it. He has just learnt he’s punched his current employer in the face, so he’ll at least be coy.

 

“Do you think we’re prepared for dinner tonight?” he asks instead.

 

A cabinet slams shut. “Fuck me. It is tonight, isn’t it? Fuck.” He slaps down two pills in front of Loki and checks the time on his gold Swiss watch. “And it’s 10AM. Fuck. Ok, hurry up and take those, and have a shower—have you had a shower? You smell nice, you’ve had a shower—and get ready to go out.”

 

“Out?” Loki asks, quickly throwing the pills down his throat.

 

“Yeah, I gotta get you some new clothes.” Instead of taking a few pills himself, Tony reaches up into an overhead cabinet and takes out a large glass bottle of Whiskey. He pours himself a small amount into his coffee mug and downs it. Loki watches on, shocked. When Tony catches him staring he looks almost apologetic. “Can’t waste time getting over the hangover. Besides, being tipsy for the day isn’t a bad way to spend this one.” He grabs his leather jacket off the counter and gives a big smile. “Ok? Ok! Let’s go.”

 

—

 

Once the headaches and the urges to puke pass, Loki finds himself back to his rightful mind set: be the best.

 

Stark has hurried him into one of his little town cars and they’re currently speeding down the busy New York streets. Apparently Stark has gotten over his awkwardness and is now set on making Loki his perfect image boyfriend. Or really, the thing that will impress his parents most. Honestly, Loki is a little hurt that Tony would want to change anything about him (he has good style, his hair is well kept), but as he glances again at that purple mark just below Stark’s lip he can agree to work on a few things.

 

If he was going to be Tony Stark’s boyfriend, he was going to be the _best_ boyfriend.

 

By the time they are dropped off at the biggest shopping district within the vicinity they’re heads have both cleared enough for coherent speech. They both grab breakfast (MacDonald’s hash browns) and walk straight to the cool palate of high-end clothes stores that make Loki feel like he’s in a David Fincher film.

 

Loki smells in the scent of rich cotton and cashmere. It’s been a while. He starts to feel self-conscious of the cheese stain on his jeans.

 

“No, but like, I’m just saying, having a Chihuahua would give you more character, that’s all.” Tony leans against a clothes rack filled with ridiculously expensive jackets and takes a bite of his hash brown, spilling golden crumbs everywhere.

 

“Sure, if the character you’re building is ‘distant aunty that fucks every guy under thirty at 50th birthday parties’.”

 

Tony snorts and Loki continues flipping over shirt after shirt. He thinks Tony came here with the idea that he’d be telling Loki how to present himself, but Loki was swift to take over that compartment. If he is the character, he will choose the costume.  

 

“Ok, what about a cat?” Tony goes on. “That’s kinda sophisticated, isn’t it? Like a…New York writer or something.”

 

“I’m allergic to cats.”

 

“Oh shit, really?”

 

No. But good character building requires flaws and not so attractive traits. Loki is no Mary-Sue.

 

“Hm. That sucks.” He finishes off his breakfast and brushes the crumbs off his hands. “A fish, then.”

 

“Is a fish worth mentioning?”

 

“Fish are great. Get a Japanese Carp or something.”

 

“Those are a pest.”

 

“See, you already know shit about fish.”

 

Tony Stark, idiot genius.

 

“What about this?” Loki holds up a pale blue shirt. Tony scrunches up his face.

 

“No. Blue is not your colour.”

 

Loki smiles and puts it back. That was a test. He passed.

 

His smirk must’ve been too noticeable because Stark suddenly blurts, “Was that a test?”

 

Loki looks up. “I just wanted to know if I was in good hands.”

 

A small smile appears next to the dark bruise, and Tony leads the way to the next store.

 

They make their way through store after store, Loki taking the lead whilst Tony thinking that he was. Every now and then Tony takes out a silver flask from his pocket and sips a little, obviously trying to fight off the hangover that is teetering on his frontal lobe. Loki vaguely wonders if he always had the flask with him. He didn’t see him pack it.

 

Eventually they stop in a formal wear store filled with grey, white and black suits and beautiful cocktail dresses that seemed to burst off the racks. Tony brings up the possibility of getting fitted, but Loki quickly shuts the offer down. Instead, they continue to sift through suit after suit, each costing more than half a year of Loki’s rent. Tony does most of the talking, voice bubbly and words rushed. He wonders when the last time Stark was truly sober. He shrugs to himself. Oh well. Not his problem. Stark could irresponsibly drink himself to death.

 

“You know what? Screw it. I’m getting one of these too,” he hears Tony mumble from the other side of the rack. “I haven’t bought a suit in a while. And we gonna look like some _fancy ass_ motherfuckers. Do you think it’d be cute if we got matching breast pockets? Ha. Just kidding. Weird.”

 

Loki listens, somewhat. His eyes have absently slid to the dresses next to him. A pretty pink one hangs alone, with coral coloured beads, facing him, provoking him. The skirt would flow just above his knees, he thinks, and feel so nice against his legs, and the pretty colour would make his white skin blush and his hair stand out and—

 

He closes his eyes and shakes his head twice, hard, as if it would rattle the thoughts from his brain.

 

 _Filthy, filthy, filthy_.

 

“Hey, babe,” Tony calls and Loki spins around. The billionaire is holding up two suits, one black and one grey. “Which one?”

 

“I thought I was in good hands,” Loki challenges, though his voice lacks bite.

 

Tony smirks and holds out the black one.

 

They walk out of the store with their new clothes but Tony isn’t done with Loki quite yet. Next they visit a hair dresser to get his hair trimmed and shiny, then to more stores to get some overly priced leather dress shoes and sunglasses, and when Tony runs out of ideas, Loki uses the pampering to his advantage and goes to a nail salon to get his ridges fined and glossy, just because he’s always wanted to. He likes having money spent on him. He has to remind himself halfway through the manicure that Tony’s playing the role of his boyfriend, not his sugar daddy.

 

He wonders if any paparazzi is around.

 

When they finally leave the shopping mall, it’s almost five. After six hours of fluffing and puffing, Loki feels like a shiny new doll. He doesn’t mind. In fact, he has a small bounce to his step. Just the smallest taste of the rich and famous lifestyle has his head spinning from the elation of it all.

 

Tony takes his phone out to call for his town car when he stops. “Shit.”

 

Loki, who was definitely not looking at his reflection in a glass window, looks over to him. “Hmm?”

 

Tony’s glaring at his phone.

 

“ _Fucking_ asshole. _Fucking_ prick. _Fuck_.”

 

“What? What is it?”

 

“Nothing,” Stark hisses, straitening up. He starts stabbing at the device, aggressively typing a message. “Howard’s decided to move the dinner from 7:30 to 5:30. Because ‘it fits everyone’s needs better’. You’re the one who organized this in the first place you piece of—!” He cuts off, regains himself, and takes a deep breath. “That’s fine. This is fine.” He turns to Loki. “Are you fucking ready to be my boyfriend?”

 

Loki links their arms together, setting a determined stare on him. “I thought you’d never ask.”


	4. Family, I'd Like You To Meet My

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It gets complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so friggin hard to write  
> Thank you all so much for all your comments and kudos and bookmarks. You guys keep me fresh and sprightly.

Loki is taking his shirt off.

 

Howard has chosen the _Per Se_ to have the family dinner at which is all the way in central New York and the car is absolutely ripping down the road because technically they are already running late.

 

And Loki is taking his shirt off.

 

“Whatthefuckareyoudoing?” Tony quickly scrambles to his side of the seat, staring as Loki tugs the green shirt over his head and suddenly all Tony can see is _smooth pretty skin and long arms and pink nipples and a skinny waist and oh god_ —

 

He covers his eyes with his hand.

 

“Changing,” Loki answers easily. _Well_ , Tony thinks sarcastically _, at least he’s not stripping for the fucking hell of it_.

 

“Why?”

 

“Why do you think?” Loki scoffs, chucking his shirt down and grabbing the bag with his suit in it.

 

“We’ll find a public bathroom to change in!”

 

“We don’t have time. We’re running late as it is, and we are _not_ showing up at the restaurant in day old sweaty clothes. You should be getting changed too.”

 

“I’m not sweaty,” Tony mumbles. He peeks out from his fingers to catch Loki’s annoyed stare. He’s already started buttoning up his new cream shirt. He’s impressively fast and Tony figures it’s a skill all actors must have.

 

With a sigh he drops his hand and starts shrugging off his leather jacket. They must look like quite the pair— for once in Tony’s life he and another person are passionately ripping off their clothes and it’s completely in the name of business. He is very glad for the clouded glass between them and the driver.

 

“Ok, recap,” Tony says, if only to distract himself from Loki starting to unlace his boots, “where did we first meet?”

 

“Lion King; we caught each other’s eyes during the break and couldn’t stop thinking about each other throughout the rest of the show until we finally reunited afterwards outside in the misty air, cheeks flushed from the exuberance of a brilliant show.”

 

“Right.”

 

Loki is bootless.

 

“What do you call me?” he asks in return, keeping the game up.

 

“Babe. Babylicious. Bodacious baby.”

 

Loki sends him another look, although more playful and Tony is grateful for it. Tony is starting to recognize the small details in Loki’s face—at first, he’d say it was all hard lines and cutting edges, but he notices the softened eyes and tiniest upturn of his lips. The small rose dusting on his cheeks.

 

“And what do you call me?” Tony pulls his (admittedly sweaty) shirt over his head and starts on unwrapping his new one from its confines.

 

“Oh, I’m the sensible one. Tony. Anthony. Stop staring at me.”

 

Tony thinks he’s making a joke at first, until he realizes Loki’s shuffled his pants halfway down his briefs and that Tony’s eyes are very much glued to them. He babbles an apology and quickly gets on with removing his shoes.

 

“Yeah, sounds great.” He tugs them off and gets started on his pants.

 

“How do I like my drinks?”

 

“Spirits. Lemonade and gin. Sweet shit. But shit that’ll fuck you up.”

 

Loki gives an approved hum.

 

Two men, two pairs of pants off. Tony catches a few more glances as he bends over to pull out his new slacks from the shopping bag, because hey, he’s a fan of skinsmanship, and he’s entitled to at least _one_ peek in this situation. Turns out Loki had the same idea because now they’re both bent over in their seats, reaching for their bags, staring at each other.

 

“…Hi.”

 

“Hi.”

 

Tony looks down to a face-full of Loki’s knee. “You’re legs are really smooth.”

 

Loki doesn’t miss a beat before replying. “Thank you.”

 

“No seriously, do you wax them?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He wasn’t being serious. But Loki definitely is.

 

“Oh.”

 

And if that didn’t change the mood.

 

But honestly, why is he even surprised? The guy asked to get his nails done. He’s dated playboy models more masculine.

 

Loki holds Tony’s gaze, _daring_   him to disprove. Trying to lighten the mood, he gives Loki a sweeping look before nodding curtly. “Nice.” He tries not to suddenly notice the shine on his arms, the absolute _endless_ plains of pink skin, the complete lack of a snail trail creeping up past his briefs.

 

Loki exhales hotly through his nose and resumes dressing. Tony smiles as they both grab their pants and quickly shimmy them on, one smoothly and the other with more of a struggle. To be fair, Loki has quite the lack of leg hair to stop the slide of fabric. Maybe that’s how he’s so fast.

 

The rest of the suit is put on without incident.

 

Tony smooths his grey jacket down, very proud indeed. Loki looks a bit more awkward (he _told_ him to get it fitted), but dashing nevertheless. He beams at the pair of them. But when Loki stops fussing with his cuffs and looks at Tony, his shoulders drop and his face screws up.

 

“We have the _same_ breast pocket?” he asks in dismay. Tony looks down to his butter cream sewed in napkin on his chest. He then looks to Loki’s butter cream sewed napkin on his chest.

 

He pauses. “…yeah…” Loki continues to look unimpressed. “I thought it was cute!” he splutters.

 

“It’s weird and creepy! Take yours out!”

 

“I can’t! it’s sewed on.”

 

Loki immediately shoots forward and starts to tug at Tony’s pocket. When his efforts prove fruitless he growls in frustration. “Hey, come on, it’s not that big of a deal—”

 

“I’m not leaving this car until you change it.”

 

_Of all the spoilt bratty **unappreciative** —_

 

“These were two thousand dollars each.”

 

“We both know you don’t give a shit what they cost, Stark, now take it off!”

 

That was true, but _how_ _rude_.

 

“You know what?” He throws his arms up. “Fine. I’m gonna ruin this two thousand dollar suit for you, because that’s just the loving, caring type of person you’re dating. You are so fucking dumped and fired when this is over.”

 

Loki seems pleased despite the threat when Tony gets to work tearing out the napkin. It takes a surprising amount of effort (nod to him for seeking out good craftsmanship), but finally with one determined tug the sound of snapping thread fills the backseat and the napkin comes off, leaving a horrible pattern of loose string behind. He glares at Loki. The little shit just beams as he takes the napkin and lazily discards it in one of the empty shopping bags.

 

The car slides into a private parking space in front of the _Per Se_ at exactly 5:30.

 

A brown woman in a tuxedo opens the door for them and Tony and Loki climb out of the back seat. Tony quickly fixes his hair and glances angrily down at his ruined breast pocket. He’d tried to make it at least presentable, but he knows he’ll get a few stares.

 

“Mr Stark, I presume?” the woman asks with a wide smile.

 

“Yep.”

 

A camera flash goes off somewhere.

 

“Welcome to the Per Se,” she greets with a small dip of her head.

 

He looks to Loki. He’s still cross with him but he shoves it to the side. He’ll only he associated with the kid for the next few hours and then he’ll give him his money and they’ll part ways. Loki looks how a person who’s about to get treated to a night at one of the most expensive restaurants for free should look; practically splitting his face open with his grin. He elegantly slides up to Tony and hooks his arm through his.

 

Tony takes a big breath, looking back to the restaurant. This is it. This is where Howard doesn’t smirk. This is where he survives for three hours and then walks out the victor. This is where the past two days finally pay off.

 

“Thank you,” Loki says cheerfully to the lady, who smiles again and leads the way into the building.

 

The reception area is white marble, filled with glossy wooden columns that are far too numerous to truly be used for structural purposes. The lighting is low and warm and the plants are fake and exotic. As they walk into the dining area they’re met with an explosion of creams and pine, all draped in thick white table cloths and plush carpet. Tony thinks if he reaches out to scrape the walls with his finger, it’ll come off thick with frosting.

 

It’s filled with bustling people, the roar of hundreds of different conversations filling the high ceiling. His family is here, and even if he can’t spot them yet, he feels his gut twist.

 

His hands are sweating. He balls them into fists and they sweat more. He’s too nervous; his heart reminds him so in hammering thuds. What if Loki forgets his lines? What if Howard catches onto them? What if he just sits down and bursts out laughing? He can’t even look at Loki right now. Oh god, _what if Howard knew what Tony had planned and hired Loki as a double agent and he’s falling right into his trap_ —

 

The woman leads them passed the main dining area and into a smaller, more private one. Here, the large tables are sectioned off with thick wall dividers. She takes them almost to the very end, where the biggest, most lavish one is, and there is his family.

 

There is his family.

 

He stops before they enter, driving Loki to the side quickly. The suited women realizes she’s lost her baby ducklings and promptly turns around. “Is everything ok?”

 

“Yes, everything’s fine, thank you, we’ve got it from here,” he says all in a rush, forcing a smile. She returns a much more rehearsed one and walks off.

 

Loki squeezes Tony’s arm, too tightly to be comforting. “What are you doing?” he grits out. He’d probably done a whole ‘actors mantra’ to get into character before Tony interrupted.

 

“I am freaking the fuck out, ok?”

 

“You’re freaking out? This was your idea. This is what you’ve paid for. You’ve asked me for my services but I _can’t do them_ if you keep sweating all over me and losing your head.”

 

He involuntary snatches his arm back and feverishly wipes his hands on his jacket. The air is getting heavier.

 

And then Loki takes his hands in his and steps in front of him to look him straight in the eyes. Tony stops fussing and stares back. “You are my boyfriend,” Loki says calmly, squeezing his hands. “We’ve been dating for almost a year.” He leans in close. “Now can we _please_ go piss off your father?”

 

A puff of air leaves Tony’s lungs. “Fuck yeah,” he says clumsily. Loki perks right up, returning to his side.

 

They step forward and Tony looks at his family sitting at the table, dressed so impeccably that he subconsciously tugs his suit collar.

 

His father sits at the head of the table. His cold, gunmetal eyes are lined with greying eyebrows, pulling his face into a permanent scowl. More wrinkles are showing up every year, and his prized moustache glints silver in the golden light. He sits like a vulture perched on a branch, or perhaps a king on a throne looking down on some beggars. Either way, you knew some poor creature was about to die.

 

His beautiful mother sits to his left. Unlike Howard, her eyes still sparkle a honeyed brown, and her chocolate hair is bouncy and bright. She’s cut it shorter since he’s last seen it and it curls just by her cheeks. Her face bears lines as well, but Tony never noticed them.

 

Her parents sit next to her, Tony's grandparents. A couple-y pair, with his grandmothers' blue hair clip matching his grandfather's tie. They’re draped in silks and expensive threads, and it somewhat distracts from their shockingly old age. A cane rests by his grandfather’s leg.

 

They all glance up. Tony immediately gets a punch of adrenaline in his gut, a feeling he always gets when around Howard, an immediate response to pick a fight, to annoy, to rage. Instead, he laces an arm around Loki’s waist and smiles pleasantly.

 

“Sorry we’re late,” he says.

 

“Tony!” Maria says, getting up and walking around the table. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a million years.”

 

“We were worried you’d never show up,” he hears his grandfather say. Maria kisses his cheek and rubs his shoulder, warm and welcoming. All the things Tony definitely doesn't feel standing there.

 

His mother looks to Loki. “And who is this young gentleman?”

 

And suddenly Loki isn’t the bratty, melodramatic, ambitious acting student that Tony’s known for the past two days, but a shiny, straight-backed gentleman that’s leaning forward to shake Maria’s hand.

 

“I’m Loki. It’s very nice to meet you.”

 

Maria lets her hand be taken and doesn’t reply. She’s too busy laughing in that weird Mom way and looking towards Tony with sparkling eyes. “ _British_ ,” she flusters.

 

Tony tries not to smirk.

 

Gaining more confidence as his brilliant plan takes fruition, he squeezes Loki closer and gives a rosy smile. “Mom, this is the partner I’ve been talking about.”

 

Maria claps her hands together. “Oh! Oh, you two are just precious together.”

 

Howard doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t seethe, exactly, but his lips definitely tighten.

 

“Are you are boy or a girl?” There’s Tony’s grandmother.

 

“Mom,” Maria warns to the women behind her back. His grandmother bristles at the tone.

 

“Well, it’s harder to tell these days,” she says with a raise of her eyes and a shrug.

 

Loki isn’t effected, only smiling pleasantly. “Boy,” he answers, taking his offered seat. Maria moves back around the table to her own and Tony sits down next to Loki.

 

“Boy,” Howard repeats. His tone gives away nothing, but those eyes sure do. He’s eyeing Loki as if he’s not real, a trick designed specifically for him to work out.

 

Loki looks back at Howard with the light airiness of someone who has no idea who they’re dealing with.

 

Maria clears her throat awkwardly, a noise all too familiar to Tony’s ears.

 

“You got a last name?” Howard continues, and just the way he says it makes Tony’s jaw clench.

 

“Yes, Odinson.”

 

A waiter comes by to fill Tony and Loki’s glasses with champagne.

 

“Odinson?” Howard now looks very amused. “Ah, yes, Loki, the one who was dropped from the family name not too long ago.”

 

If he’s going to count that as a defeat, he’s sorely mistaken.

 

“Yes,” Loki nods, keeping his tone level, “almost a year now.” Howard looks even more amused, lifting his wine glass to his lips.

 

“Tony, what on earth happened to your face?” Tony looks up when Maria speaks and his hand flies up to his busted jaw. Soon he has the attention of the entire table.

 

“Oh, right, yeah, I just—” he starts gesturing aimlessly, trying to grab any story his useless brain can come up with. “I just, you know—”

 

“We got drunk and I slapped him.”

 

However many ground levels this ridiculous restaurant has, Tony’s jaw is hitting the floor of it. He gapes at Loki. The treacherous little bastard is smiling at him, as if he has just told a particularly humorous joke. _What are you doing?_ _What are you **doing**? _

 

But the short hell only lasts a few seconds, because suddenly his grandparents are chuckling fondly.

 

“Mmm,” his grandfather’s voice is all croaky and horrible, “you have to watch out for this one—whenever liquor is involved, it’s all grabby with him.”

 

“Grandad,” Tony almost whines. His grandfather shrugs and looks anything but apologetic.

 

“I’m just relaying what I’ve seen from all that television footage. Someone’s got to keep track of the family honour.” His small laugh sounds like a choke. Tony hopes it is.

 

“You know,” his grandmother butts in, placing her hands on the table as if she’s about to make a gratifying point, “I just think that boys should keep their hair short, and girls should keep their hair long. No, not like yours, Maria, I’m talking about the ones that walk around looking like boys. Really short, and I think, if you want to look like a boy, then go all the way, stop making us all confused. I’m sorry, but you’re just going to look like a lesbian. Don’t get angry if you get called a lesbian if you you’re a girl and want to look like a boy. And then they wear flannel! Honestly, what impression are you trying to make? You know what? I think it’s Natalie Portman. When she cut her hair short, ugh, well,” she ends with a little flail, and then withdrawals from the table again.

 

“Loki, what do you do?” Maria asks.

 

Loki takes a little while to divert his eyes from the old women after her speech. “Uh—oh, I have an internship I’m going to complete next year in LA.”

 

“How exciting,” she answers with a stretched smile. Tony wonders if Loki, or anyone else for that matter, knows that his mother plays mind games almost as well as Howard. She just can’t afford to execute them as noticeably as him. But everyone at this table is trying to pick a part Loki with stares and words, and Tony quickly checks his watch just to remind himself how long a couple hours really is.

 

“What are you studying?” Howard asks.

 

“Acting.”

 

“Acting?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“How interesting. I can’t imagine being involved with an actor. If they’re any good you wouldn’t know what to trust.” He smiles down the table and is met with a polite chuckle.

 

“That’s why you don’t date them, dear, just have affairs with them,” Maria says with a tight-lipped smile, tugging her hair behind her ear. “So, Loki, tell us about yourself.”

 

“Well, I—”

 

“Loki likes the beach. And theatre.” Loki looks at Tony when he interrupts, face unreadable. Tony clears his throat. “He owns Japanese Koi fish.”

 

“Really?” Maria seems fascinated.

 

When Tony looks at Loki, he can suddenly read his face, and it says _‘stop trying so fucking hard’_. He swallows.

 

“Koi?” His grandmother pronounces the word like it’s a battle to get out. “What’s Koi?”

 

“A common type of Japanese carp,” Loki answers. His grandmother doesn’t look impressed, but then again, not much emotion can get passed those folds and creases these days.

 

“Are they big?”

 

“Quite.”

 

“Where do you keep them?”

 

“In a tank, I would presume,” Howard murmurs. Loki picks up his champagne glass.

 

“Enough, I want to hear more. Where did you two meet? I’ve heard so little about everything.” Maria takes the reins again.

 

“Well,” Tony starts. An easy question. He knows this story off by heart. There is no way he could mess this up. “I went to see The Lion King on Broadway and saw Loki in the crowd.”

 

He looks towards his pretend boyfriend, trying to find his eyes, trying to be romantic, but what he sees isn’t wistful reminiscence, it’s confusion.

 

“No you didn’t,” Loki says, shaking his head, and Tony’s heart stops beating for a few seconds, because… _what?_

 

“Uhhh…yes I did. That’s where we first met.”

 

Loki shakes his head again and it’s the most fucking infuriating gesture because _what the absolute hell is he talking about? Isn’t this what he wanted? Isn’t this the scenario he **fought** for?_

 

“No, that’s not the very first time we met.” Tony stares. Everyone at the table looks delightfully entertained. “The _first_ time we met, was in a Starbucks.”

 

“Ah,” his mom laughs, “I can believe that.”

 

“Yes, you came in,” Loki suddenly gets a wiry smile as he continues, like a mother recounting a scandalous story of one of her children, “and looked up at me, and asked me to be your boyfriend there and then.”

 

There was laughter then, quickly over, but big and hearty. Howard’s face even twitched.

 

“I don’t think I’d ever been so scared in my life,” Loki laughs. Tony blushes then, though it may be his face finally cooling down from being so hot these past few minutes. Loki looks at him lovingly, like a boyfriend of exactly one year would look at their partner, and Tony immediately realizes that Loki knows exactly what he’s doing. Of course two people’s meeting wouldn’t be that fucking fairy-tale like. Of course one of them would mess it up and forget, because that’s what couples do. And instead of debriefing Tony, he simply lets it happen because there is _no possible way Tony could’ve faked that reaction_. He just simply didn’t have the actors gene and Loki knew it.

 

He makes a note to tell Loki afterwards that he was not fucking good at improv.  

 

“Aww, darling,” Loki coos, placing his glass down and stroking Tony’s shoulder, “have I embarrassed you?”

 

Maria laughs again because Tony is still in awe and flustered and at a complete loss of what to say. Another believable reaction.

 

In the end he finally plays cutesy, giving Loki a playful enough look and then reaching out to hold his hand. Maria clasps her hands together.

 

“You two are very cute. And how spoiled! Tony’s mentioned quite the number of dates.”

 

“Yes, and all when we’ve wanted to come visit him.” Howard says it like he’s not instigating a thing, just making a random observation.

 

“Yes,” Loki says, face lighting up. “We have been to many Broadway shows together.” Loki squeezes Tony’s hand.

 

“Broadway, hm?” Howard muses and Tony knows exactly what that face means:

 

_Not letting the gay rub off on you, now son?_

 

“Mm!” Loki nods. “I’m trying to introduce him to my culture,” he chuckles self-consciously. “We also went to New Jersey together for a weekend.”

 

“Oh, ugh, I _hate_ New Jersey,” Tony’s grandmother starts up again. “You know what it is? It’s the smell. Smells terrible. Me and John went down once and well, I couldn’t leave the hotel because of it. Horrible. Bad weather, too. Yuck.”

 

“No, it was beautiful when we were there,” Loki smiles, ignoring her. He looks down to the table, as if he is recalling his most sacred memory.

 

“Did you go during the summer?” Maria asks.

 

“Yes, It was warm and we were by the beach. I was so stressed with school and Tony surprised me. It was so lovely…”

 

And now Tony’s eyes are widening because Loki’s are _tearing up_. 

 

And dammit, it _was_ romantic.

 

“I’m sorry,” Loki says, wiping delicately dabbing at the corners of his eyes like the fucking prima donna he was. His mother looks on the verge of swooning. “It was just a very nice weekend for me.”

 

“Oh see, now that’s nice,” Tony’s grandmother says, looking to her husband. “John, we should go away more, that would be nice.” His grandfather takes so long to acknowledge her words that Tony thinks he’d simply keened over and died. It’s almost disappointment he feels when the old man suddenly jolts and nods.

 

Not much is asked after that. Howard’s face has returned to sceptical but not sinister, and Tony thinks one of the harder parts of the evening is over.

 

The food comes out shortly afterwards. Howard makes a small comment about having to order for the two because of how late they were, and Tony returns the comment with his own fuck you by commenting how many glasses of wine Howard had gone through. And that’s as far as the personal communication went between the two of them.

 

The dinner is fancy and delicious—bowls of salad decorated with gold leaf, large red steaks cut into elegant portions and exotic types of fish. Tony never got into the ultra-expensive dining his family enjoys so much. He likes his pizza cheap and greasy.

 

The conversation continues politely enough; the adults do most of the talking about business and how the new generation is ruining everything. Tony makes sure to make eye contact with Loki from time to time and orders his favourite drinks. He calls him babe. He plays a little footsie. The night is going far better than he expected.

 

It’s only when their plates are being taken away does his mother return he topic of conversation to their relationship.

 

“Well,” she says, smiling and wiping her mouth with a silken napkin, “a year. Quite the mile stone. Are you two thinking of taking things further?”

 

“Uh, not really,” Tony says, and Loki jabs his heel into his shin. “I mean, yeah, we’ve thought about it. But we just want to enjoy each other’s company for now.”

 

His mom looks disappointed.

 

“Well, you aren’t getting any younger,” Howard says. Tony’s face strains and he feels his blood grow hot.

 

“I’m twenty five. I think time is on my side.”

 

“Your mother and I would like to see you get married, eventually.”

 

“Well you’ll just have to wait a little longer, won’t you?”

 

“Anthony,” his mother warns. He ignores her. The comment wasn’t made for her.

 

“The family line has to be continued,” his grandfather nods.

 

“Yes,” Howard muses, “thought with… _your_ type of relationship…children would be a bit harder to come by, wouldn’t they?”

 

Tony’s blood starts to boil.

 

“Our _type_ of relationship?” Loki asks, and for the first time that night his tone is anything but friendly. Howard shrugs innocently.

 

“It’s just an observation—”

 

“Please excuse me,” Tony says, suddenly standing, making his chair screech horribly on the wooden floor. Everyone watches as he quickly walks out the room, tugging his collar to get some air, in silence.

 

—

 

Loki was doing perfectly well until Tony fucked it up.

 

The Starks are intimidating, that much is obvious. Is Loki nervous? Of course he is. Does he find these people rude and ignorant beyond belief? To almost his breaking point. Is he going to let that get in the way of doing his fucking job?

 

No.

 

Because he’s a professional. And now Tony’s gone and gotten emotional and left him to the sharks.

 

Loki looks up to one of the most powerful families in America and is very much reminded of that particular sea predator.

 

Maria sighs quietly at Tony’s departure and looks to Loki. Everyone looks to Loki, actually. His throat constricts. “He’s done quite a good job in keeping you a secret,” she says, face lifting into her usual smile. Loki returns one the best he can. “We haven’t seen you two at all in any media. You must know a few people in the entertainment industry to escape the paparazzi so well.”

 

“We simply don’t like to draw attention to ourselves.”

 

“Anthony? Not wanting to draw attention to himself?” Howard scoffs.

 

“But you two have been to Broadway multiple times?” Maria presses, and suddenly Loki realizes that she’s never believed their story from the start. For sure, she doesn’t think Tony’s fabricated as much as _everything_ , but the dubiousness is still there.

 

Loki’s not too sure how to answer. Maybe he hasn’t got this in the bag after all.

 

“Perhaps Tony takes care of the pictures, I wouldn’t know, we don’t really talk about it that much.” He hopes that will do for now and picks up his martini, eagerly sipping.

 

“Tony doesn’t tell you?” Maria’s brow dips in confusion. “You two don’t ever talk about things like that? It’s never been a problem?”

 

“Is there a problem?” he asks, not sounding too affronted and definitely not cornered (that would give the wrong impression), but in a tone of general inquiry and a hint of worry. Yes, turn the tables on her, so she feels stupid for even thinking of interrogating him.

 

Maria goes a bit tense and backs off. “No, I apologise, there’s nothing wrong. I’m just so interested in the two of you. Not even hearing about you, seeing a simple picture of you for so long and now you suddenly being here—I’ve had trouble believing you were real before.”

 

 _And still having trouble believing_ , he knows she almost adds.

 

“Just…what has Tony said about us?”

 

“Maria,” Howard says lowly to her.

 

“Has he mentioned us before? What sort of things does he say?”

 

Ah, now Loki sees. Whilst Howard delights in the thought of Tony acting so petty and pathetic as to hire a pretend boyfriend, Maria absolutely fears it. She’s the backbone of this crumbling family and the idea that her son would go to such lengths just to avoid her would be heart breaking.

 

So Loki indulges her.

 

“He mentions you quite a lot,” he lies, shoulders losing the rigidness from before. “He speaks very fondly of you.” Despite his best intentions, Maria doesn’t look satisfied.

 

“Yes, but has he said anything bad? Like why he didn’t want you to meet us for so long?”

 

“Maria, please, be civil,” Howard says coldly.

 

“Well—” Loki’s mind races, he knows he shouldn’t say anything without Stark here lest they mix up their story—“Stark really doesn’t like to flaunt his status at me most of the time.”

 

“Stark? You call Tony ‘Stark’?”

 

Loki’s mouth snaps shut because _how on earth could I have fucked that up oh god oh god_.

 

Waiters come out with desert.

 

“Y-yes, sometimes, it’s a long story—”

 

“That’s quite strange,” Stark’s grandmother says, if only just to inject her opinion in there.

 

“Do you always call him that?”

 

“No, I mean, sometimes—” He’s slipping up like an amateur and he doesn’t think he’s ever been so relieved to see Stark when he slides back into the room, looking much more cooled down and much, _much_ more tipsy.

 

“Sorry, emergency,” he says cooly, cheeks blushed. He sits down and flashes a grin at Loki before looking down to the freshly served desert. “Oh, desert, _awesome_. I wonder what kind of ice-cream this would have to be to get into a place like this. Do they grow the cows themselves in penthouse apartments? Feed them only chemically perfect grass? The thought ponders.”

 

“It’s goats milk ice-cream,” Maria says, and Loki doubts Tony notices the way she’s looking at him, teary eyed. She’s about to explode and this dinner table is the last place Loki wants to be when she does.

 

“Ah,” Tony nods and points his spoon in her direction. “That explains it.” Tony begins eating. No-one else does.

 

“Anthony.”

 

Oh dear god.

 

Stark looks up. “Mm?”

 

“Tell me the truth, just tell me the truth.”

 

Howard's not trying interrupt her anymore. No, he’s smirking, and when Loki sees it he immediately sees why Tony started them on this crazy crusade.

 

Tony looks confused. “What? What truth?”

 

“Just…why don’t you like to see your family? Why don’t you spend more time with us? You have this ridiculous boyfriend and—”

 

Well, that was insulting.

 

“Whoa, whoa, what the fuck are you talking about?”

 

“Don’t you swear at your mother young man.”

 

Tony swings his head around at Howard and by the look of his glare Loki wouldn’t be surprised if he spits at the man. Loki takes another sip from his drink.

 

“I’m simply _trying_ to understand what’s going on. Mom. What’s going on? What are you saying?”

 

“I asking you why you never see us anymore!” Poor Maria looks almost in tears.

 

Loki grips Tony’s knee under the table, trying to tell him to calm down and not feed the growing situation, but no, Tony is stupid, and keeps talking.

 

“Maybe I didn’t want to bring Loki around because I knew how this one would react!” He juts a thumb towards Howard. His father glowers, shoulder growing even more broader than before. Loki squeezes harder simply out of fear.

 

“So many excuses, Anthony!” Maria says. Tony’s grandparents are silent. His grandfather looks like he’s gone to sleep and his grandmother is trying to look as disinterested as she can whilst she slurps her ice-cream.

 

“What excuses?” At least Tony has the good mind to lower his voice somewhat.

 

Maria seems to be at the end of her temper. “What Broadway shows did you see on your dates?” It’s a rather innocent question by itself.

 

“I don’t know, mom! Hairspray.”

 

“Lower your voice,” Howard scolds, though he’s wearing his smirk again, and when Tony catches a glimpse of it, his skin grows three shades redder. Stark is going to lose it.

 

“You want the truth?” Stark says suddenly, loud enough to address the entire table, not taking his eyes off Howard. Loki’s blood freezes. Stark stands then, a glass of champagne in his hand. “You want the truth?”

 

 _What are you doing you stupid man?_ Loki can’t even look at him. This is going to be awkward. He takes a large sip in preparation. An almost comical amount of time passes before Stark finally speaks.

 

“Loki and I are engaged.”

 

And then Loki gags and sprays his martini all over the table, absolutely _ruining_ his goats milk ice-cream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay plot


	5. Audrey Hepburn (What She Would Do)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty missed calls from Stark. Five missed calls from Thor. One missed call from his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's this???? I'm posting a chapter when I said I would??? unheard of  
> I think I fainted when I saw how many comments this story has gotten. I am...astounded. I get a face lift each time someone leaves another comment or kudo.

There’s noise filling Loki’s ears, the sound of chairs scraping on the floor and gleeful laughter and voices. People are grabbing him, hugging him, talking to him. He doesn’t know what’s going on. It’s all blur. But there’s one thing that is coherent in his mind:

 

Rage. Absolute, seething, boiling rage.

 

He blindly reaches for Stark, grabbing his suit jacket and tugging fiercely. He mumbles something along the lines of getting some air, but it might’ve come out as, “Follow me _**now**_.”

 

He drags Stark deliriously through the restaurant until he comes to the outside dining area, then pulls him further. Passed the patio, passed the shrubbery until they’re both standing at the very end of the gardens, deserted because of the cold. He finally lets go and Stark faces him.

 

“Ok, I fucked up—”

 

Loki slaps him, hard.

 

Stark screeches when the palm makes contact with the bruise on his jaw and it’s the most satisfying thing Loki’s heard all night. Stark rubs his face, then straightens up again.

 

“Ok, I deserved that—”

 

Loki slaps him again. Stark hisses and keens over, curses, and takes a little longer to recover this time.

 

“And that one—”

 

Loki raises his arm to abuse further but Stark grabs his wrist. “Well I sure as hell don’t deserve that one!”

 

“ _Engaged?!_ ” Loki rages. “What the fuck, Stark!”

 

“I know, I got angry, I panicked, I didn’t know what to do—”

 

“What to do? Oh, I don’t know, maybe just calm yourself down like a normal adult?!”

 

“We’ll figure this out.”

 

“ _We'll_ ’? Fuck you. I didn’t sign up for this. This is your problem. Now pay me and leave me alone.”

 

“Please,” Stark begs, desperate. He takes a step forward and Loki pointedly takes one back. “Please, I’ll work it out, I swear. I need you, just for a little while longer.”

 

“No.”

 

“I’ll give you more money.”

 

“No, I don’t want any more of your money, I want to go home.” Loki turns and starts walking back. “I’ll return this stupid suit to you sometime this week.”

 

“I’ll pay off your student loans.”

 

Loki stops. “You’ll what?” His tone is clipped and cold.

 

“Student loans. You’ve mentioned you were struggling with them. I’ll pay them off.”

 

And suddenly Loki feels helplessness and an all new rage, because fuck, he can’t deny that offer and Stark knows it. Manipulative psycho.

 

The cold air is burning the tip of his nose. He turns to face Stark head on. “How long is this going to go on for, Stark? Until we’re standing at the fucking altar? Until we’re sitting in our beach side home in Florida with a bunch of gaybies running around?”

 

Tony’s still holding his face, slightly swaying, and Loki starts to wonder why he even bothers arguing with a man so off his face. “I’ll work it out,” he says, not comforting in the slightest. “It won’t go that far—”

 

“It wasn’t supposed to go _this_ far!”

 

“It won’t go any further. I just need a little more of your time. Please. I’ll get us out of this. I’ll fix it. I’ll fix it.”

 

Loki shakes his head and they stand in silence for a long while. Loki avoids looking at him. He looks at the perfectly trimmed grass instead, trying to clear his head and breathe out his anger steadily. Slowly, slowly accepting his new circumstances. It’s going to be a long time before he can find any of this funny, that’s for sure.

 

Suddenly Stark tries to speak again. “So you’ll—?”

 

“Just take me home, Stark,” Loki says in a defeated tone. Stark’s lips tighten and he nods.

 

Telling the dinner party that they have to leave prematurely proves tedious. Everyone wants to know the details (big surprise) and congratulate more. But the more Loki hears the words ‘wedding’ and ‘husband’ the more bile rises up in his throat. So, after having to pry Maria off of them and shower them all with promises to call as soon as possible, they leave.

 

They sit in the back of the town car, both too deflated to muster any tension. Loki looks miserably out the window and when it grows bright and his reflection glares back at him, he can see the start of dark, heavy rings under his eyes.

 

The drive to his apartment is slow and silent. When the car does finally come to a stop, Loki pushes the door open quickly and grabs his messenger bag. He looks over his shoulder. Stark is bundled in the corner, his jacket wrapped around his front, looking like he’s just drifted out of sleep, eyes red and hazy. “I’ll contact you,” Loki says, and then gets out and shuts the door.

 

Loki airs his way into his twin share apartment, mechanically walking by the tiny kitchen and adjourned living room, chucking his bag over a chair and then walking into the cold, while-tiled bathroom. He strips off his clothes and leans over to a hot pink CD player, pressing play, and when David Bowie’s‘ _Lady Stardust_ ’ begins to ring off the walls everything finally slows down and he can exhale, long and hard. He can relax. After the dinner he feels like a wind-up toy that’s been used one too many times and he rolls his shoulders, trying to untie the knots in his neck. It doesn’t work.

 

In the shower he clears his head, breathing in the scented steam and scrubbing the evening from his skin. He’s halfway through his second cycle of conditioner and mango body scrub when he realises he’s probably over reacted. Because honestly, what’s changed? Well, lots, thanks to Stark’s ever engagingly big mouth, but Loki is still in the same position he was in: someone hired to a paying client. And boy was Stark paying. Loki allows himself to smile against the spray for no more than a few seconds before returning to bitterness. He’s probably more happy than upset about the situation but he’s not going to let Stark know that. No, Stark made it personal and Loki wants his control back.

 

So he makes a note to turn off his phone for a day or two just to let Stark stew in it, knowing full well what a petty creature it made him.

 

He steps out of the shower and stares at himself in the mirror. Gawkily tall, lanky, stupid looking, dark-haired, sunken faced, girl-boy looking, joints-sticking-out-at-all-the-wrong-angles girly _freak_ —

 

He pinches his hips. Stretches the skin of his face back. Claws at the tiny curve of his belly. Pushes his butt in.

 

He opens a draw and takes out Darcy’s makeup kit and puts some on just to see how it looks. Then he puts some more on. Adds more mascara. He likes the way it fills his face out and makes his eyes seem less hollow. Makes him pretty.

 

David Bowie’s still playing.

 

David Bowie. A guy who wore makeup and danced weirdly and had girlish hair and gained the respect of everyone in the mid-70s. He’s not a freak, really. Is he?

 

Loki doesn’t know. He wipes the makeup off and stops the CD player, feeling stupid.

 

He walks into his room and chucks his two thousand dollar suit in the corner, pulling on a week old shirt and boxers. All his posters along his wall watch him as he does so: Star Wars, Clark Gable, Michael Fassbender shirtless, Titanic, George Clooney, Wicked, Alfred Hitchcock, Marilyn Monroe, Natalie Portman _with short hair_ —

 

He flops down on the bed and stares up. Audrey Hepburn stares back at him, cigarette holder smartly between her teeth, eyes twinkling with mischief.  The poster is creased from when he’d hastily folded it and the corners are completely torn off, but he still finds no fault in the picture, those smooth skinny arms and that little black dress.

 

_What would you do, Audrey?_

 

Probably go for breakfast at Tiffany's.

 

_Mmm._

 

Exhausted, Loki closes his eyes and falls into a deep sleep.

 

—

 

When he wakes up he hears moaning.

 

His head pounds, though it’s nowhere near as bad as the hangover he woke up with the day before. Wincing, he sits up and rubs his forehead. Disgustingly explicit sex noises continue to float in from the other bedroom on the opposite end of the apartment, to his delight. Darcy must be back, then.

 

He stands and stretches and looks out the window. Late morning, which means he’s due at Olive Garden in five hours.

 

He’s making himself a cheap, boring, tasteless cup of coffee when Darcy emerges, looking rumpled and tired, dressed in miss-matched daggy clothes with her wild hair teased and frizzy and her make up smudged. She pauses when she sees him. “Oh, hey man.”

 

He gives a short wave. She scans him up and down and grins at his loose boxers and ruffled hair. “Oooooo,” she teases, springing forwards so she’s leaning over the kitchen cabinets. “Someone looks sexaaaaaay. You go on a date? You get some ass?”

 

“No.”

 

Darcy scoffs, shoulders slumping. “Man, no-one gets ass in this apartment. This is a no ass zone.”

 

“You sounded like you were getting your fair share,” Loki says, pouring his coffee.

 

“Oh, that was porn. I totally didn’t know you were here.”

 

Loki looks at her, holding his mug. “It’s eleven in the morning.”

 

“Hey I don’t judge your shitty life. Man, when are you going to get some guys over? The only reason I rented that room out to you is because I thought you would be a dick magnet and I’d get to sneak in on some hot homo sex. But you’re not. You just walk around listening to your weird gay music and do your hair a lot. You’re a boring gay. I got stuck with the sad gay.”

 

Loki stands there. “Thanks, Darcy.”

 

She gives a supportive thumbs up.

 

At four he’s at Olive Garden, trying to keep his eyes from twitching as some elderly women dressed head to toe in salmon pink pronounces everything on the menu as an incoherent drawl. When he corrects her she spews something racist, so he nibbles a little bit on her salad and uses his spit to clean the edges of her plate. His co-worker, a ratty teen called Clint Barton, says to spit in her drink. “That always teaches my customers a lesson.” Loki retaliates by saying how all that’s earned Barton is three warnings from their boss and a no tips, and that he’s hardly a super hero. What he doesn’t say is the main reason he wouldn’t is because _ew_.

 

On the way home he does some shopping, picking up lettuce, milk, instant noodles and razors for Darcy. On the way to the register, he stops in front of a magazine rack.

 

‘HEIR TO STARK INDUSTRIES' NEW BOY-TOY?’

 

Loki’s heart skips a beat as he picks up the magazine and looks at the candid shots of him and Stark outside the _Per Se_ and one grainier one of them in the little garden where they had their fight.

 

Oh. That’s why Maria thought it was crazy that they’d never been spotted by the paparazzi. He spends two minutes in the open with Tony and suddenly he’s front page news. He smiles a small, nervous smile and adds it to his basket. Street cred.

 

When he gets home he practices some scripts for class. He’s the lead, obviously, and he has to memorize seventy pages of talking, which he has, obviously. Darcy tries to join, offers to be the other role, and even though Loki already knows the outcome he indulges her and gives her the lines. After ten minutes of “No, not like that”, “No, you have to stand there”, “No, say it with passion” and “No, Darcy, the play does not have a sex scene”, she gives up and takes the role of the audience. After another ten minutes of loud ‘ooo’ing and ‘ahh’ing after every line he speaks, he banishes her to her room. Loud moaning soon follows. Spiteful woman.

 

It’s on the subway the next morning when he finally decides to turn his phone on. He’s tired and is squished between a fat man in a bowling shirt and a dark guy who’s clearly just finished chain smoking and Loki is done being petty.

 

When the phone lights up he very quickly realizes turning it off in the first place had been a mistake.

 

Twenty missed calls from Stark.

 

Five missed calls from Thor.

 

One missed call from his mother.

 

He swallows.

 

He hasn’t talked to his mother in a year. His family _must_ know if his mother is calling him, know of the ridiculous situation he’s in. He hates to imagine what they’re thinking of him right now, engaged to a billionaire. Sluttish, lazy, disappointment of the family.

 

Loki shakes his head, frowning at the screen. What do they matter? They don’t. He made sure of that when he left that vengeful house.

 

He juggles on who is the most approachable and finally decides on Thor. He calls him and presses the phone to his ear, hoping the idiot won’t let his naturally booming voice drift through the entire cart.

 

He half hopes he won’t answer— his brother is studying social sciences on a football scholarship in Illinois and Loki will be surprised if he’s even conscious at this hour. It’s not that he’s scared of talking to his brother. Their conversations don’t always disastrous. It’s just very rarely do they end pleasant.

 

He waits two dial tones before Thor picks up.

 

“Loki?”

 

“Speaking.”

 

“So you’re _finally_ picking up! I thought I would have to catch a plane over to your house to get your attention.”

 

“Well, my attention you now have, Thor, so use it wisely.”

 

Thor scoffs. “Have you seen the news lately?”

 

He knows what Thor’s eventually getting to, so he humours him. “No, actually, I don’t find it that invigorating these days.”

 

“Do you know what it’s _saying_ about you?”

 

“I can somewhat imagine.”

 

“It says you’re engaged to Tony Stark.”

 

“Does it?”

 

“I’m literally holding a magazine saying the same thing.”

 

“Mmm, yes, those seem to be selling quite well.”

 

A few seconds of sputters fill the other end. “What—what is going on? What’s going— is it true? Are you?”

 

Loki takes a short breath before shrugging, hoping it expatiates through the call. “Yeah.”

 

More stutters. “ _What_? How is this—how can that be—you didn’t even tell me you were _dating_ someone!”

 

Loki grinds his teeth, humour gone. “I don’t need to give you a heads up for everything that goes on in my life, Thor.” He tries to keep his tone neutral; other passengers are trying not to stare.

 

“You’re _engaged_! What are you talking about? Were you just going to get married and wait for us to find out? Mum and dad had to find out from some Howard Stark announcement on an entertainment show!”

 

Howard Stark announcement. Loki is reminded of how big this mess really is.

 

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

 

Ahhh, there it is. The big Thor Guilt Trip, because it always has to come back around to how this has affected _him_ and how _he's_ feeling.

 

“Because the reason I moved to New York is so I can have my own life,” he bites out, “I don’t need your opinions or permission on every decision I make anymore.”

 

“Mum’s going to New York to see you.”

 

Loki’s stomach drops. “What?” Suddenly his mouth is very dry.

 

“You weren’t answering any of us so she bought a ticket and is going over there to see you.”

 

Trust his mother to get ignored once and then immediately take a plane trip up the country from Florida to see him.

 

This changes things. Things are moving too fast around him and he needs to take control of it, quickly.

 

“Um.” He tries to talk, fails, and swallows.

 

“She’s happy,” Thor assures, as if feeling his distress. “I think she wants to organize your engagement party.”

 

Among other things, Loki knows, like chastise him on keeping secrets like she always does. He swears his family is obsessed with putting everything on the table for everyone to examine and scrutinize, no putting things behind your back, no hiding, no secrets, no fucking privacy.

 

“Are you going to have an engagement party?”

 

And Thor’s still fucking talking and Loki tightens his hold on the phone. “I don’t know, Thor,” he manages.

 

“Or a bachelor party?”

 

“ _I don't know_ , Thor.”

 

“Hm,” Thor muses, sounding disappointed. “I think you should.”

 

Of course Thor’s worried about the parties. He wants to be invited to them.

 

He throws his hand up, a useless gesture, but almost hitting the fat man next to him in the face makes it slightly worth it. “Then I will,” he says, trying to stress the roll of his eyes in his voice. “I’ll have a bachelor party and an engagement party and invite you to them, then apologise profusely to you all for being so sneaky. Will that make you happy?”

 

“Very,” Thor says cheerfully.

 

“Goodbye, Thor.”

 

“Call mum.”

 

“Yeah."

 

He hangs up. He looks down at his phone and opens his messages, pulling up the unread ones from Frigga.

 

 _‘Hello sweetie, heard about the engagement, very exciting! Have bought my ticket, will be over there by tomorrow morning._  
_Xxxx Mum'_

 

Tomorrow. They need a plan of action by tomorrow.

 

He send a text to Stark to meet him after class.

 

Class goes relatively boring. When he walks into the student theater he can tell they’d all been chatting about him. For acting majors, playing coy seems to be out of their professional range. He pities them.

 

Winter break is fast approaching and the entire creative block has been working towards a play that they will perform in an actual theater on some street that’s not exactly Broadway, but the closest thing they’ll ever get to it. Well, all of them except for Loki. The art students have done the backgrounds and the stage design students have done all the props and the music students are trying to come up with a sound that’s at least appealing.

 

He waits backstage with the other actors as they set everything up for rehearsal.

 

“Hey Loki fuck you.”

 

Loki responds to his name and turns around. Some random kid with boring hair stands behind him, flocked by the other nobodies, trying to look daunting.

 

“Apparently you’re dating Tony Stark,” he says. “At least we’re all working hard to get where we want and don’t have to whore ourselves out to get a little fame.”

 

Hurt shows on Loki’s face as his hands come to rest over his heart. “Oh, I’m so terribly sorry that I’m the one that has to bare your lashes when you become pent up with your own failure, I’d truly love to indulge you, but I now have to go and carry this pathetic group as the star of this show while you play a fucking bystander.”

 

They murmur as he checks his phone. Stark’s texted that he’s waiting outside. “Send my stand-in when you start,” he says to the assistant director without even looking at her, and walks out.

 

It’s cold again today and the sky is a horrible grey, as if it knows it’s a Monday and has to get through another week. Loki’s boots click as he makes his way to the small concrete courtyard. No students are out, all either in class or hiding in more warmer places. Loki tightens his thick scarf around his neck.

 

Stark’s standing there with his sunglasses on, dressed in an expensive looking burgundy jacket, holding a bouquet of pink flowers. They walk until the meet in the middle.

 

"Hi," Tony starts, awkwardly. Loki doesn't answer. He then lifts the flowers, clearing his throat. “Yeah, uh, I bought these in case, you know, any pap was around.”

 

Loki slowly takes them, the plastic crinkling and whining. “Mm. Smart.”

 

A small moment passes. Loki stares at him. Stark stares at the flowers. He suddenly jolts, scratching the back of his neck.

 

“Also, you know, they’re really pretty and I wanted to apologise for what I did. Because I fucked up. Like, really, really badly. I don’t think I’ve fucked up more, actually.” He finally looks up at him.

 

Loki stares, wanting to accept the apology, but decides not to. He looks at the bruise on Stark’s jaw and notices it’s gotten smaller and less angry.

 

“How did you get that bruise, Stark?”

 

“Hm? You punched me, remember?”

 

“Why?”

 

Stark swallows. “Because I…leaned forward and you didn’t like it.”

 

So he made a pass at him. Loki’s not surprised, so he just nods. “Ok.”

 

More silence, but it’s needed.

 

“You were great last night.” Loki swings his head up. Stark’s taken off the glasses. “At the dinner. You were really, really great. I’m an idiot, but you powered through it. It was pretty fucking fantastic, actually. Are you the head of your class?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good. Because you’re amazing.” Loki’s face grows hot and his chest swells, a horrible habit that happens whenever he gets a compliment. He blames it on his unyielding vanity.

 

When Loki doesn’t reply Tony cranes his head around the courtyard, examining the high buildings. “Nice school,” he comments.

 

The swelling in his chest stops immediately. “I’ve already said I’ll help you, Stark.”

 

Stark seems surprised. “What? No, I didn’t—I wasn’t saying— that wasn’t me talking about payments, I swear,” he says earnestly enough. He gives a tiny smile. “But it does help for you to say that.”

 

Loki sighs. “Alright. We need to move forward. Are you going to let me help you?”

 

Tony’s face lights up. “Yes, yes, of course, god, yes.”

 

“Good.” Loki stands a little taller. “I have memorized over one hundred romance novels and classic fairy tales, fifty romance plays and have watched over three hundred romantic comedies and dramas, most of which are considered the best in the genre, so we are going to orchestrate the most believable break up of all time and to do it you are going to have to follow every single thing that I say and worship every piece of advice I give you.”

 

“Done.”

 

Loki’s smile is razor sharp. “Good. I finish class in an hour. There’s a café somewhere in this campus you can sit in while you wait.” He turns and walks back to the theatre, making sure the flowers he’s holding are a bit too noticeable.

 

—

 

Tony has fucked up _bad_.

 

When he stands at the dinner table and the word ‘engaged’ comes out of his mouth, he still thinks it was a good idea for exactly three seconds. Because in those three seconds, Howard looks _defeated_. It’s the first time in Tony’s life he’s ever seen that man physically shocked, with eyes blown wide and his mouth open like a Japanese fish.

 

And then those three seconds end and Howard collects himself and suddenly looks challenged, like it’s all in good fun.

 

Maria seems crazed with the amount of emotion rushing through her brain and she cries out happily, running around the table to congratulate the two boys. By now Howard has stood and is smiling like a shark, clapping for the good news like everyone else. He looks in those cold grey eyes and sees the challenge set—

 

_Let’s see how long you’re going to drag this out, Anthony._

 

When feels the tugging at his jacket Tony suddenly remembers that Loki is an actual person with a real life and real problems and not his personal blow up doll that he can inflate whenever he wants to screw with people. Loki is swift to drill that into his head with the palm of his hand. Multiple times.

 

He was certain Loki wasn’t going to help him, student loans be damned. Tony was cooped up in his apartment, breaking down from stress as his phone went off every few minutes with a call from his mother and Loki not answering even a text from him. Howard had gone and done some massive announcement on some cheap entertainment show, sharp-toothed grin getting covered by three different angles, and Tony was having a heart attack.

 

He was ready to give up—he had the speech written down of how he was going to tell his family that it was all a lie.

 

Then Loki came to his rescue and he lied again, because those flowers are _so_ much more than making face for the paparazzi.

 

Tony sits on an uncomfortable metal chair in the small campus café, sipping on an overpriced shitty coffee. He’s had four students already come up to him in excited chatter and he blames it on the ridiculous blazer he’s wearing. It just oozes ‘important person’ which, of course, is why he bought it in the first place.

 

He’s been waiting for forty minutes now and he’s tempted to sneak into the theater next door just to see what Loki’s up to, because _god_ those kids are making a racket. Dramatic music, screaming, thumping on the ground, the whole shebang.

 

He walks over to the large double doors and peeks his head in. He barely gets a glimpse of a gigantic stage before he’s promptly shooed away. He pouts and returns to his seat and continues to wait.

 

It’s another half an hour before people start pouring out the auditorium in a loud stream filled with critiques and compliments. He can spot the actors by their thin, all-black clothing and by the way they sneer at him. All of them. He awkwardly sits there and takes it, dumbfounded, until Loki bounds through the door, hair pulled up and face thick with stage makeup. He’s grinning like a maniac and when he sees Tony he runs and flings his arms around him, straddling his hips.

 

“Hello darling!”

 

The acting students look even more appalled, completely turning their noses up as they leave the building and suddenly Tony’s mind clicks.

 

_Ohhhhhhh._

 

_Oh you vain little shit._

 

Only when all the acting students leave does Loki take some of his weight off him, heaving out a breath and digging into his bag to pull out some makeup wipes. “Cows,” he mutters. He’s still on Tony’s lap, so he just nods in agreement.

 

“Totally.”

 

Loki silently cleans his face and when most of the concealer is gone he stuffs the wipe away and huffs.

 

“Well. Shall we?” He climbs off Tony’s lap and leads the way out the door. Tony nods slowly.

 

“Totally.”

 

They ride his town car back to Loki’s apartment (it turns out Loki hates any form of public transportation) and Tony finds himself excited to see where Loki lives. In the past he’d just imagined Loki living in a dressing room with lights and stars and roses all over the door. So he’s a little disappointed to say the least when Loki leads the way into the tiniest apartment Tony’s ever seen. He didn’t think they came in this size. And apparently _two_ people live here! At least Loki said his roommate was out for the day. But god, how do they fit their beds in?

 

_Not everyone sleeps on a king-size mattress with silk sheets, Tony._

 

The kitchen is a dirty white with bursts of colourful plastic kitchenware hanging from the cabinets. The lounge room’s blue two-seater sofa is worn and scratchy and the mat it sits on in even more so. A giant bookcase filled with movies stands to the side, whilst other small tables hold incense sticks and dirty plates and random CD albums.

 

‘ _It’s cute_ ’, he wants to say, but Loki would know that’s bitch talk for ‘ _people live here?’_ , so he stays quiet.

 

Loki fusses around, putting his bag away and cleaning up some of the scripts that are strewn across the coffee table. Tony feels his heart swell a little when he sees him carefully place the pink flowers into a vase on the kitchen counter. Then he quickly chucks a loose, purple knitted sweater over his head and beckons Tony to sit down on the couch. He does, and winces at the stiffness of the cushions.

 

“Ok,” he says, placing his hands on his knees as he looks up to Loki, “what’s the plan?”

 

“My mum is coming to visit us tomorrow.”

 

Tony, quick as a jack rabbit, take out his phone and checks the messages from Maria. His eyebrows raise. “Ah. Yeah. It appears our families have made contact.”

 

Loki makes some noise of irritation, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’ll want to organize _everything_ , the wedding, the clothes, the food…”

 

“What about your dad?”

 

“No,” Loki says sharply, holding his finger out, “do not even mention my father. He is uninvited.”

 

Tony stares for a few beats, waiting. “Uninvited...to what? The con? The wedding?”

 

“Just…” Loki seems even more irritated. “To anywhere within my immediate vicinity.”

 

 _Well that's not fair,_  Tony thinks. He still has to be around his shitty father. Loki’s dad can’t be as bad as Howard, can he?

 

“...Ok,” he says eventually. “So how are we going to convince both of our families and a good portion of American TV that we, a happy, recently engaged couple, are on the verge of breaking things off?”

 

Loki thinks not for ten seconds. “The engagement party would be a great place to start.”

 

“Engagement party?”

 

“Mm,” Loki nods, “my mother wants to throw me one. My brother, too.”

 

Shit, yeah, Tony almost forgot Loki had a big scary older brother. Another person he’s not too keen to meet.

 

“So you’re saying we ruin our own engagement party?”

 

Loki smiles. “That sounds like fun. Let’s do it.”

 

“I’m not good at acting.”

 

“You act like an idiot all the time.”

 

“Ouch.”

 

Loki wanders over to the movie-filled book shelf and, with elegant precision like he knows exactly where everything is, slides out several DVDs. “Then we start cramming now.” He lays down the collection on the coffee table and Tony looks down to the likes of Titanic, Love Actually, What Maisie Knew, The Great Gatsby and Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

 

“You want me to watch _all_ of these?” Tony asks miserably, looking up at Loki.

 

“The fact that you say that with even a hint of unhappiness in your voice disgusts me. These are brilliant films depicting love and heart break and you are going to observe and learn.”

 

He slips Love Actually into the DVD player and clicks the TV on. Then he bundles up on the couch, dragging a blanket, pillow and Tony towards him. Tony muffles from behind the thick quilt, sending a very pointed look to Loki. “And how exactly is this going to—?”

 

“Shhhhhhhhhhh,” Loki presses his finger to his lips, eyes glued to the screen. “It’s starting. No more noise.”

 

Tony huffs and stares at the TV as the movie logos flash across the screen.

 

Fine, he’ll watch these stupid films, but not because Loki told him to, but because the poor kid looks like he’s just been granted the best day of his life just because someone is sitting down and watching movies with him. So Tony relaxes against Loki’s fuzzy shoulder and listens to Hugh Grant narrate how love, actually, is everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gay
> 
> Thank you to AlwaysAmused for your lovely story suggestions, I didn't actually end up using the one I said I would, but I did use the 'Howard makes an announcement of Tony's engagement' idea ;) So everyone re-read those few sentences with brand new appreciation for her.
> 
> where my david bowie hoes at amiright


	6. Mothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And what do you want to become?” 
> 
> Loki smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW OK, so this took three good years to shit out, but holiday season has been crazy for me, I've actually been away to Japan for a week to see a friend and then this stupid thing called Christmas happened and then the only thing that was holding me back was my incapability to do literally anything but watch seasons of Bob's Burgers.  
> Thank you all for waiting so long for me to update this dumb story. ilu

_Loki twists his tiny hands together as he waits for the cue to go on stage. The lights are bright and hot and make his cheeks pink. The parents in the crowd have been reduced to a dark, lumpy sea with the occasional click and flash of a camera._

_Loki isn’t wringing his hands because he’s nervous. He’s wringing his hands because he’s angry._

_“Move, servant,” says Claudia—pretty, smelly, stupid little Claudia—in her squeaky voice. Loki looks enviously at her purple velvet dress whilst plucking at his own boring, brown tunic. **He** is supposed to be the princess. **He** is supposed to be the lead. He earned it. And all Claudia had to do was cry a few tears and just like that and his rightful part was taken from him._

 

_He says nothing and glares. He’s been reduced to her **squire**._

_Stupid Claudia grins her gap-toothed grin and scales the steps to the stage and soon Loki hears her delivering **his** lines._

_The finale comes soon. Loki’s entire class goes up onto the stage to celebrate the princess and prince reuniting. Loki grabs his paper cone like the others, filled with dried flower petals, meant to throw at the happy couple. He’s the squire. He has to shower them first. So he does._

_He walks up into the burning light, up to stupid Claudia’s grinning face and tips his cone over her head. He returns the smile._

_Glue comes dripping out in a long, thick stream onto her fuzzy afro of hair._

_The other children gasp, hands cupping over their mouths as they stare on in horror. His teacher’s face goes white as death. No-one makes a noise. Claudia’s joints lock up and she becomes very still, before her face screws up and she lets out an ear piercing **scream**. _

_Loki drops the cone onto her head and smiles at the crowd like his teacher taught them to do at the end._

_His mother buries her face in her hands. His father goes red as a cherry, stream practically whistling from his ears. And Thor? Thor falls off his chair, holding his stomach from laughing._

 

—

 

It’s halfway through Breakfast at Tiffany’s when Tony realizes he likes Loki. Not as a business partner or an acquaintance, not even as a passing fancy, but truly _like_ the kid.

 

To be honest, Tony doesn’t care much for movies. Sure, he watches them—a lot of them— but he’s never really got the whole ‘buy advanced tickets to the underground indie Hayao Miyazaki-esque film’ mindset. He likes his films with explosions and car chases and giant machine guns. He is, to put it bluntly, a boy.

 

Which is why he quickly found Loki much more entertaining than what was actually on the TV. They couldn’t go through five minutes of one film without Loki shaking his shoulder and pointing out a particular piece of writing or directing that he should appreciate, or slyly whisper into his ear about some sort of trivia or rumour about the actors.  If it wasn’t that then it was tiny noises— gasping, cooing and tsking, hands over his mouth and heart. He must’ve watched these movies half a million times, but that didn’t stop his exaggerated reactions. It doesn’t bother Tony. It’s adorable, in its own aggressive way.

 

Breakfast at Tiffany’s is obviously Loki’s favourite. He’s mouthing the words without noticing and every time Audrey Hepburn appears on screen his eyes go a little glassy. They’ve been watching movies for hours now, and any formal stiffness between them has melted into casual comfort as the sky turns dark blue, lounging on each other with a bowel of corn chips and chocolate between them.

 

“Oh, look how she wanders in her pretty clothes, she’s so elegant, ugh.” Loki takes a chomp from his chocolate bar.

 

Tony doesn’t know how someone can be so obsessed with another person.

 

“You wanna be like her?”

 

Loki’s scoff is muffled as he chews. “I wouldn’t set myself up for failure like that. Audrey is perfect.”

 

“I thought you took pride in being perfect.”

 

“Not as perfect as Audrey. She’s another level of perfection.”

 

Tony shrugs. “Eh. You could come pretty close.”

 

Is he flirting? He might be. Loki is interesting. He simply wants to figure him out. And if he is, Loki doesn’t notice, either on purpose or he’s simply too enthralled with the movie. He makes an excited noise, pointing to the screen.

 

“I love this part. It’s so quaint.” 

 

Tony looks up and his eyes grow comically wide. “Oh my god, they’re having breakfast at Tiffany’s? At last? _Finally_ , I’ve gotten what I signed up for. Ok. We can stop the movie now. I’m good.” Chips are thrown at him and he laughs. “Oh come on, give me a break. This is the fourth movie. I’ve been good.”

  
“Hmmm,” Loki narrows his eyes. “We still have Titanic to go.” He continues watching the screen but Tony stares at him, head laying back on the stern couch pillows.

 

“So tell me, why movies? Why acting? What’s so good about acting?”

 

Loki continues watching, but places a chip that was lined up against his lips down. “It’s the…pretending. Becoming someone else. Something else.”

 

“And what do you want to become?”

 

A small while passes before Loki smiles and snuggles against Tony’s side. “Watch this part—it’s hilarious. They’re doing things they’ve never done before, you see? What’s something you’ve never done before?”

 

Tony continues to stare at him before lifting his eyes to the TV. He shrugs, as much as he can with Loki’s head on his shoulder. “Don’t know. I’m pretty wild.”

 

“Ever steal something?”

 

“Only the hearts of everyone I meet.”

 

A laugh bursts from Loki and Tony decides he really likes the sound of it and makes it his mission to hear it again. Loki hits him lightly on the leg. “Be serious,” he chastises.

 

“Fine. No. I’ve never stole something. I’m not an asshole. You?”

 

“Me? Yes, I’m very much an asshole. I used to steal things from my brother.”

 

“Pssh,” Tony scoffs, “that’s lame stealing. Stealing from family is loser stealing. We’re talking about hard-core stealing.”

 

“Hard-core stealing?”

 

“Yes. So come on, you ever actually stole something?”

 

“No.”

 

“There you go. Here we are, a bunch of losers.”

 

“We’re losers for _not_ stealing?”

 

“Yep. Bunch of lily-white pansies. I’d probably get killed in prison on day one.”

 

Loki nods, and Tony’s not sure if he should be offended that he did. “What’s another thing you’ve never done?”

 

“Get married.”

 

That earns him a punch. “You may not be an asshole for stealing, but you are an asshole.”

 

“I aim to please,” Tony grins. Loki lifts off of him and gets to his knees, turning the movie down.

 

“To business then.” Aw. He liked snuggling. He’s a snuggable guy. “What have you gotten from these movies so far?”

 

The sound of static fills his brain. “Uh.”

 

Loki grits his teeth and suddenly his face has gone hard again. “We have to have a plan by tomorrow. You need to know how to act.”

 

Yeah. Tomorrow. Their mothers have already plotted an outing together to organise when and where to have the engagement party. To say they were eager would be an understatement of epic proportions.

 

Tony makes a careless gesture. “We’re supposed to be breaking up, yeah? So I’ll just act like an dick. You’ve already declared how good I am at that.”

 

“No. Acting mean to each other will only make us feel more like a real couple.” Loki gets to his feet and paces, fingers against his lips. He stops. “We need to act like a high school couple. Complete and utter bullshit.”

 

“You want us to act…more in love,” Tony says slowly.

 

“Too in love,” Loki corrects. “ _Too_ touchy. _Too_ giggly. What do you think when you see a couple who laugh and giggle and poke each other and never talk about anything serious?”

 

“Bullshit,” Tony nods, eyes lighting up as he starts to get it.

 

“Exactly. I have to play the slutty, giggly fling and you have to play…you.” Loki places a hand on his hip, looking around. “I should show more skin.”

 

“You’re willing to play the slut in front of your entire family?”

 

Loki rolls his eyes, waving a hand at him. “It’s nothing new.” Tony would give his left leg and an arm for _those_ stories, but Loki continues talking. “Also, the engagement party. That’s where we need to have our fight.”

 

“Right.”

 

Loki turns serious then, returning to the couch. “Tony, when we fight, you can’t hold anything back. We need it to be real. We need to hurt each other. I won’t be mad with whatever you say. What matters is getting the idea across. Ok?”

 

Tony swallows. He doesn’t want to hurt Loki. He’s hurt him before and his cheeks are still sore, thank you very much.

 

“Sure,” he says eventually with an uncertain nod. Loki hums in approval, snuggling against his side once again as they continue to watch Audrey Hepburn try desperately to marry a millionaire.

 

When the movie does finally end, Tony smiles, turning his head to tell Loki what he thought about the film, only to see him fast asleep. Silently thankful that he doesn’t have to sit through another one, Tony clicks the TV off, wraps the blankets around them and falls into a slumber of his own.

 

When Tony wakes, it’s morning and a funny looking girl is crouched over in front of the couch, holding up her phone, taking pictures. His eyes shoot open. “Hello.”

 

Her expression is nothing it should be—her face lights up as she pokes her head out from behind her phone. “Oh my god. Hi! I’m the roommate. Darcy. And you’re…. _so_ much hotter in real life.”

 

The compliment is the only thing his brain reels in for processing so he responds to that. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re Tony Stark, yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Wow,” Darcy breathes, “that’s a lot of inheritance.”

 

“Go away, Darcy.”

 

Tony jumps at Loki’s voice. He looks to see his bed mate slowly pull himself out from his blanket cocoon, hair array and eyes red. Though Darcy lowers her phone, her brilliant grin never leaves.

 

“Babe!” she squeals, delighted. “You’re finally getting some ass! And with famous people! With money!”

 

“Stark is simply an acting exercise,” Loki says breezily, sliding off the couch and onto his feet. Tony’s eyes bludge.

 

“Whoa, you’re just gonna lay that one on her?”

 

“Why shouldn’t I?”

 

“I think you’re forgetting the definitions of ‘secret’ and ‘con’.”

 

Loki scoffs as he makes his way to the kitchen. “It’s Darcy—she won’t tell anyone.” He stops mid step to look at his roommate with only the slightest hint of scold. “Darcy, don’t tell anyone.”

 

“Righto.” She goes back to taking pictures.

 

“See?”

 

Tony’s shoulders slump as well as his face. He hasn’t had a drink in almost twenty four hours and he’s really not in the mood to argue. “Whatever,” he grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose to try and alleviate the strain behind his eyes.

 

Loki hums in a fond sort of way. “Now. Come make me breakfast. I’m hungry.”

 

So now Tony’s cramped in that tiny kitchen, pushing around eggs and milk in a frypan whilst Loki and Darcy chit-chat, perched on the only two chairs in the room. He’s put his sunglasses on to keep his eyes from watering at the sunlight streaming through the windows, and it somewhat works.

 

“So…you two _aren’t_ dating,” Darcy says, looking at Tony sceptically.

 

“No,” Loki says, sipping his coffee.

 

“But I can’t tell people you aren’t dating because in public…you are dating.”

 

“In a way.”

 

“But you aren’t really dating.”

 

“No.”

 

“Because…?”

 

Loki shrugs, not looking at anything in particular. “Personal reasons.”

 

And Jesus Christ if Loki is going to keep being this vague, Tony might just spoon his eyes out.

 

“Ohhhh!” Darcy suddenly says, loud enough for Tony’s head to whip up. “I see what’s going on here. ‘s ok, Lokes, whatever ‘arrangement’ this relationship is, I won’t judge you. I’m actually really jealous.” She looks to Tony, eyes suddenly narrow and dangerous. “Hey you.” She points a finger at him. “Respect safe words, ok?”

 

“Wha—?” The wooden spoon slips out of his fingers and bangs against the lip of the fry pan before somersaulting to the ground.

 

“Stark!” Loki shouts, and suddenly Tony can smell the burning.

 

“Fuck shit fuck.” He hastily takes the fry pan off the stove and chucks it onto the counter. No-one moves for a moment, until Tony takes his sunglasses off and looks at the shrivelled black mess in the pan.

 

Loki’s eyebrows raise mockingly high as he examines and nods. “You burnt scrambled eggs.”

 

Tony can’t really say anything to that.

 

“…I can start again?”

 

“No, don’t bother,” Loki says, and Tony has to say, the tone hurt. He tried his best, honestly. It’s not his fault no-one bothered to teach him how to cook.

 

Loki shoos him out of the kitchen. “I’ll make breakfast, you go get me clothes for today.”

 

Tony awkwardly stumbles in a direction he thinks Loki’s room might be. “What do I pick out?”

 

“Surprise me,” Loki replies, in a way that says ‘I can’t be bothered spoon feeding you right now’ rather than ‘I trust your decision making abilities’.

 

Tony fights the urge to roll his eyes and make a face.

 

“Psst.” He looks up to Darcy, who points to a doorway. Tony gives her a strained smile and thumbs up before walking through it.

 

Dead ahead is a bathroom so he hooks a left. He comes to a door, dirty white with a Alfred Hitchcock movie poster on it. He’ll take his chances.

 

He opens the door and steps through.

 

Holy. Fucking. Nerd.

 

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen so many posters in his life. Sure, he himself had a few car posters and that stupid picture of Albert Einstein with his tongue poking out in his room once upon a time, but this…

 

They’re _everywhere_. They are climbing up the walls. Broadway shows, directors, Monroe, Hepburn, DiCaprio, Waltz, and is that…is that David Bowie? Of course. Of course it is.

 

He shifts through the room with a bemused smile until he comes to a large wardrobe. Pulling it open, he starts to rummage through clothes. Many, many clothes. He stops being picky after the first ten shirts he inspects and instead throws something together. If Loki doesn’t like it, then he can just come and chose something that agrees with his impeccable taste himself.

 

When he walks back into the kitchen, Darcy whisks her head around and sets a bewildered stare on him. “You’re a billionaire and you’re just going to let your boyfriend keep torturing himself with minimum wage?!”

 

Tony is really starting to hate the amount of confusion this morning is putting him through.

 

“What?”

 

“Darcy, stop,” Loki says from behind the stove. A serve of scrambled eggs and bacon is already on the counter.

 

“No. Look after your boyfriend. Loki, you’re dating Tony Stark and you’re due at Starbucks in three hours. That’s fucked up dude.”

 

“Oh, yeah.” Finally, a conversation Tony is prepared for. “Loki, she’s right, you don’t need those jobs anymore.”

 

“Don’t I?” Loki asks, serving up another plate.

 

“No. You’re fine. You don’t need them.”

 

“Oh? And what about after my assignment with you?”

 

Tony leans against the bench so Loki can finally look at him for what feels like the first time that morning. “Loki. You’re fine. You don’t need the jobs.”

 

Loki raises an eyebrow at that promise, and after a second he finally gives him a softer expression. He smiles, if hesitantly, and returns to cooking. “Alright then.”

 

“Fuck yeah! Welcome to the unemployed club. Only you have a billionaire. I don’t. Hey Mr Stark can you shout me a McFlurry?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Yaaas.”

 

Loki snorts as he gives Tony his breakfast, his sunglasses resting lightly on top of it. After eating Loki takes the clothes Tony picked out for him, looks them over and nods in approval. Tony feels his face grow hot with praise when Loki walks out in his loose grey turtleneck and jeans, even if he didn’t wear the shoes he picked out.

 

They take the town car to the café their mothers have chosen to meet at and on the way Loki goes full business again. He lectures that they obviously can’t act too out of character because they’ll be around their own mothers, but this also brings about the opportunity to sneak ideas into their heads with side whispers and behaviour they’ll know is off, rousing suspicion. Tony doesn’t know about Loki’s mom, but his wouldn’t know an ‘off’ behaviour from Tony if it was served to her glazed and garnished on a plate by one of her top chefs in her mansion. His mother is sweet and he has no doubt that she loves him, but their relationship just isn’t as intimate as a mother/son relationship should be. Same goes for the rest of his family.

 

Loki tells him he won’t have to do much for Frigga to immediately dislike him. He dryly says thank you.

 

Soon the car pulls up to a pretty looking building and Tony opens the door to get out. He’s stopped halfway by a hand bunching up his blazer. He looks over his shoulder to Loki, who is suddenly looking very discomforted, almost frightened, staring at the car seat.

 

“Hey, are you ok?”

 

Loki starts to gasp instead of breathe. Tony curses and motions the driver to give them a moment before ducking back inside.

 

“Whoa, hey, what…is this? Are you ok? Do you need anything?”

 

Loki can barely manage to shake his head in quick jerks, clutching at his chest.

 

“Fuck, ok.” Tony flails his arms uselessly for a second before resting them on Loki’s shoulders, rubbing, hoping the gesture is soothing. “It’s ok, you’re fine, we’re…fine. It’s just  brunch. Brunch with moms. Nothing wrong. It’s ok.”

 

He continues to blather until Loki’s breathing slowly evens out. Then, like whiplash, Loki straightens out of Tony’s grip and briskly wipes his eyes, where tears were ready to spill over. He takes three deep breathes before combing his hair back. “Alright. Let’s go.” He pushes past Tony and climbs out the car.

 

Tony looks concerned, but doesn’t say anything. He’s honestly a little scared shitless about meeting Loki’s mom too.

 

—

 

Loki’s not scared, he’s perfectly in control of the situation. It was barely a panic attack, a minor hiccup at best. He is _fine_ , he is _fine_ meeting his mother after all this time, there is no reason for her to threaten their plans, no reason for him to get so sentimental and emotional because if anything, he is completely unaffected by her presence because _he is fine_ —

 

Loki clumsily rubs at his eyes as he scales the steps of the building. He hears Stark’s expensive shoes clack on the pavement as he follows.

 

“Hey—are we gonna talk about what just happened?”

 

“No.”

 

A flash goes off somewhere and Loki’s heart leaps. Good. His eyes are red and he’s frigid and tense (but he is ** _fine_** ) and Stark looks lost. Perfect press picture.

 

He is in control.

 

Tony grabs his shoulder but Loki—probably too dramatically, as always—throws it off him. He whirls around and gets in Stark’s face. “Don’t,” he whispers. “There’s paparazzi over there and we look like we’ve just had a fight. I’m going to walk away hurriedly now. You should wait a few seconds before following.”

 

He should probably feel more apologetic than he does when Stark’s pitiful expression grows more so and he leaves the poor man standing there. For a second Loki thinks Tony is finally going to stop putting up with his dramatics and leave, but he soon hears footfalls trailing behind him once more and his shoulders relax.

 

The café is lovely. It’s a part of a high-end restaurant complex and the walls are curved and glass, like a giant fish bowel overlooking the streets. Few people are sitting at the tables and when Loki catches a glimpse at the menu prices he knows why.

 

Maria is sitting at a large table right up against the glass. She’s wearing a fetching plum dress and black pumps, something most people would say is too racy for this time of day.

 

Frigga is nowhere to be seen.

 

Maria’s brown eyes crinkle in glee when she sees them. Loki hopes his effort on his watery eyes haven’t made them redder. She rises from her seat and waddles towards them; the dress she’s wearing obviously doesn’t give much leg room.

 

“My boys!” she greets, pulling Loki into a firm hug. Loki slips on an easy smile. “Oh I’ve missed you.” She holds his face and ruffles his hair and Loki struggles to keep a pleasant expression. Thankfully her attention switches to her son. “Tony,” she hugs him as well, “how have you been sleeping? You don’t look too well.”

 

“I’m fine, mom, I just had a long night.” If his mother is trying to decipher what that could mean, it doesn’t show. She’s gone back to dotting on Loki, squeezing his hands as she looks at him.

 

“Loki, darling, I want to apologise for the dinner. Things got a bit out of hand and I probably had a bit too much to drink. It was quite the overwhelming day,” she says with an awkward chuckle that she doesn’t even try to make convincing.

 

“No, it’s fine, it was a fun night.” He tries to make his voice light.

 

“Hey mom,” Tony interrupts, “who’s idea was the big TV announcement on Sunday? Very classy, the way you didn’t…tell me about it. At all.”

 

“Anthony you know your father gets excited about the future and wants to tell everybody.”

 

“He gets excited about my future?”

 

He gets a slap on the arm for that. “Stop. Today isn’t about Howard, it’s about you two.” Her glowing smile is back within seconds. “You’re going to have an engagement party! Isn’t that wonderful? I remember my engagement party. You two are going to have so much fun.” She leads them over to the table where they all sit down. “And then the wedding, and the ceremony…though I am disappointed I won’t get to go bride shopping with one of you. The bride’s dress is the best part, after all.”

 

Loki smiles politely and tries not to feel Tony’s heavy stare on him. Maria gazes lovingly at the two of them before perking up. “Should we order something? Loki, your mother said she would be a bit late. I talked with her on the phone the other day. She seems like….an interesting women.” Tony doesn’t do much to veil his snort. “But you know me, I’m going to delight in anyone with a British accent. You all sound so smart.” She must’ve said something funny because she laughs then. “Oh, Loki, this is an exciting day for you, isn’t it? Your mother mentioned that you two haven’t seen each other in a long while.” Loki’s smile stays put.

 

“Yes, in almost a year.”

 

“A year?”

 

“Since I’ve moved here.”

 

Maria replies, but the words don’t register. Loki is instead looking across the café to where Frigga has walked in.

 

His mother hasn’t changed at all since he last saw her. Her clothes are woollen and creamy, her hair the same honeyed blonde lengths pinned up in some exquisite design behind her head and her face still glows when she sees him.

 

Loki stands. The table is silent until Maria waves and calls out. “Hello Frigga!”

 

Loki can’t really bring himself to wait until Frigga finally reaches the empty chair waiting for her, so he steadily walks across the café, passed the tables and chairs and glass displays with little frosted cakes in them until he’s swept up in her arms and is enveloped in the smell of perfume and wool. Frigga hugs him back hungrily.

 

“Hello Loki.”

 

It takes all the strength in the world for Loki not to burst into tears then and there.

 

Instead, he pulls back and suits an appropriate smile. “Hello mother.” She smiles and strokes his cheek.

 

“I’ve missed that face so much. How is your acting going?”

 

“Great.”

 

“I’m glad.” She smiles, then grips his chin softly. “I am beyond angry at you right now, Loki. But let’s wait until a better time for that talk. Maria! Good morning!” She releases him and glides over to the table and Loki takes a small moment to swallow and stare.

 

Tony stands when Frigga approaches him and Loki’s mind quickly snaps into work mode. He darts forward and twirls around to Tony’s side, lacing his arms around his shoulders. “Mum! This is Tony Stark. We’re getting married.” His cheeks tint pink when he gives a big smile, despite almost choking on his words. He feels Stark’s throat bob and back stiffen in absolute fear as Frigga stares at the two of them, eyes just slightly bulging. Loki inwardly cringes. But it’s not like he ever had his parent’s respect and pride in the first place.

 

“…Oh,” Frigga says, finally breaking the awkward silence. “Tony, yes, I’ve looked forward to meeting you.” She’s schooled a neutral expression back onto her face and reaches out her hand. Tony quickly shakes it, clearing his throat.

 

“It’s very nice to meet you.”

 

“Mm.”

 

Another small pause before Maria gets tired of waiting. “Well! Why don’t we all sit down and eat something?”

 

For the next twenty minutes Tony and Loki pick at their food and sip at the their drinks whilst their mothers frantically plan everything—from who is attending their engagement party to how many rose petals should be on their bed in the hotel room.

 

They seem immersed, so Tony leans over to whisper in Loki’s ear. “So what’s the plan?”

 

Loki’s throat tightens uncomfortably, because honestly, he doesn’t really know. He’s still somewhat flattered that his mother is so passionately on board with a wedding she so obviously has no faith in.

 

“We get information about the engagement party so we can make our own plan accordingly.”

 

Tony nods. “Yeah, that makes sense. So…should I start acting obnoxious so your mom hates me yet?”

 

“Oh, no, she already detests you.”

 

“Wha—?”

 

“So what do you two think?”

 

Both boy’s heads whip up. Maria and Frigga are smiling at them, awaiting an answer.

 

“I’m sorry?” Loki asks.

 

“With the venue,” Maria smiles. “I think The Lion's Hotel would be lovely.”

 

Tony shrugs. “Sure.”

 

“Great, I’ve already booked it but I wanted to make sure. Now, for the guests, obviously the family is invited, and the President of the industry and then there’s Jan and Linda and of course the Chancellor—”

 

“Loki, who do you want to invite?”

 

Maria looks offended at being interrupted, but Frigga only looks at Loki. Soon everyone does. He squirms.

 

“Um…I suppose…there’s…” No classmates. No workmates. No ‘person I meet on the streets’ mates. If he’s being honest with himself, Stark’s the only person he’s been remotely close to this past year. And money’s the only thing that’s making them so. That is…depressing.

 

He’s taking an embarrassing long time to answer, so he says the only true friend he knows. “I guess Darcy Lewis, I could invite…” The answer surprises him. He’s never thought about Darcy and his relationship that much.

 

Maria waits for him to say more, but Loki withdraws from the table. He glances a look at their faces and almost bursts out laughing. Maria looks disturbed at the lack of friends yet Frigga seems to brim with pride over the fact that Loki even has one.

 

“Darcy Lewis it is,” Frigga says, writing it down on her pad of paper with a smile. Maria stutters a bit, like she wants to say something, but the words never get passed her tongue. In the end she just smiles as nicely as she can and types the update into her sleek Stark pad.

 

More details are added to the engagement party and Maria locks them all in with tap on her phone. The engagement party is officially debuting on the 1st. Two days from now.

 

“Now, my husband and I are willing to pay for half of the—”

 

“Don’t be silly,” Maria says, waving a hand, eyes never leaving her phone. “Howard’s agreed to take care of everything.”

 

Frigga finds the gesture offensive. “No, it’s quite alright—”

 

“Frigga, please, we’re obviously far better off, just leave the expenses to us.” She smiles like she’s offered some great charity and continues tapping on her phone.

 

Loki’s mouth drops open. Tony suddenly looks very interested in his chocolate milkshake.

 

To his mother’s credit, Frigga doesn’t kill her. Her smile barely tightens as she puts away her check book. “How very generous.”

 

Loki thought he’d have to orchestrate their two families into hating each other. He should’ve put more faith in his mother.

 

Conversation quickly turns to the bachelor party.

 

“Loki, your brother wants to throw you and Tony a bachelor party. Of course, he wants something crazy and over the top so he wants to take you two to Las Vegas.”

 

Las Vegas. Loki doesn’t think he’s ever been less surprised in his life.

 

“But his schedule is extremely heavy—Thor, my eldest son, he’s in college on a football scholarship— so he only has his Christmas holidays to do it.”

 

“Cool,” Tony grins “What a cool guy.” Loki groans and buries his face. He really doesn’t need his fake-future husband favouring Thor over him, like all the others.

 

“Um,” Maria says, “I’m afraid that won’t work, we all have to be back in California by Christmas so I want the wedding to be before then.”

 

Loki chokes on his breath and almost falls off his chair. The wedding _before_ Christmas? That’s less than _three weeks_ away. He glances at Tony who looks just as unnerved.

 

Frigga bristles. “Then Thor is only free on the 1st. We can’t have two parties in two different states on the same day,” she chuckles at the ridiculousness of the idea.

 

“Well then we’ll just have to have the engagement party. Your son can come to that.” Maria starts to pull out her phone, clearly happy with the decision.

 

Frigga is about to slap someone. “My son wants to do something nice for his brother and his fiancé and I won’t take the opportunity away from him, so I am very certain we can come up with a new date, even if your Christmas plans have to be pushed back a little.”

 

Maria looks positively scandalized. Sensing that the possibility of a brawl is very much adamant, Tony perks up.

 

“Hey, why don’t we fly to Vegas Friday night? Mom, we’ll just cut the engagement party a little short and then take the jet. There, all solved.”

 

Maria’s ears are practically glowing red, but before she can answer Frigga gives a delighted nod. “Very good, Anthony, that sounds like a great idea.” She jolts the new plan down on her notepad. “And don’t worry Maria, we can pay for this one.”

 

Maria’s face finally cracks into an ugly smile as she murmurs an agreement.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally watched Breakfast at Tiffany's. I used to wonder what was missing from my life, and now I know it was Audrey Hepburn.
> 
> GUESS WHO'S FLESHED OUT THIS ENTIRE STORY??? this pickle. So I'm guessing there will possibly be 12 chapters, maybe 13.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading this story so far. I cherish each and every one of your comments and kudos (but mostly comments. lazy fuckers)


	7. Pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He pulls Loki forward and kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just kick me, just lay me on the ground, and kick me. as a group. just...,,fucki g
> 
> This is way too late. But guess who got accepted into film school???? this pickle. So I have no idea where I'm gonna find time to write between my film course in the city, gym and learning to drive but I will do it. For you. For father. For all of us.

Loki bursts into his apartment in a whirlwind, chucking his keys onto the kitchen counter and coming to a stop in the middle of the lounge room. He tugs on his collar, neck hot. Stark follows in a much chipper fashion, skipping through the door and whacking it closed behind him. He slams his blazer on the counter and makes a grand gesture, arms spread like wings.

 

“Fucking Vegas baby! This is awesome.”

 

“Stark—” Loki feels his throat close up.

 

“We’ll do our little show for the engagement fiasco, then go to Las Vegas to party. Your brother is such a cool dude, babe.”

 

“Stark I can’t—”

 

“Holy shit, we have like two days to plan this thing. Alright, we gotta have a pitch for the fight, which you can do, you can handle the whole dramatics for the thing because that’s kinda your area—”

 

Like the lid of a teapot being shot off, Loki explodes. “Can you shut up about the fucking con for one second?!”

 

Stark’s mouth snaps shut. When Loki doesn’t hear a response he storms passed and into Darcy’s bedroom and slams the door behind him. The lights are all off accept for a tiny slit of sunlight cutting out from under the window blind, and in the dimness he can see Darcy’s lumpy body underneath the purple comforter. With a last huff, he flops down next to her, sprawled out like a petulant cat.

 

Darcy uncurls out from under her warm burrow, poking her head out. “Ay dude wussup.” Her voice is thick with sleep. When Loki does nothing but whine into the mattress she reaches out to curl a finger around a strand of black hair. “Mr Grumpy.”

 

“I can’t do it anymore, Darcy.”

 

Darcy hums her sympathy. “I remember when I was in a weird relationship. As soon as he brought out the whips it was like ‘hey! I’m not doing this!’…..I’m kidding. I mean, there were whips, but I was totally fine with it.” Loki appreciates her attempt at cheering him up, but is in too sour a mood to show it. Darcy gets up on her elbows. “Hey. You need anything? You want me to scare the mean billionaire off?”

 

“No, don’t bother.” Loki squints up at her from behind his hair. “Darcy……we’re friends, yes?”

 

Darcy scoffs and quirks a brow. “Er, try a little over the line of friendship there buddy. I’d totally blow you if you asked nicely.” Loki keeps staring up at her until her smirk softens into a smile. “Sure we are,” she says. “Of course we are.”

 

Loki is too exhausted to contain his grin. His chest warms and swells. “Nice. You’re invited to my engagement party.”

 

“Awww!” Darcy falls back onto her pillows, her big apple cheeks blushing. “Thanks man! I haven’t been to a fancy shindig in forever.”

 

“Mmm,” Loki smiles. He rolls into her side. “Now cuddle me. I want to spoon.”

 

“You know I love a good little spoon.” Darcy tugs a thin blanket over him and then wraps an arm across his chest, hugging him tightly. A few seconds of silence passes before Darcy jolts. “Wait, you guys are getting _married_?”

 

—

 

Loki wakes up with his mouth clammy and head sore. He blinks a couple times then rubs his face over with a groan. He carefully slips out of Darcy’s grip and climbs off the bed. Stretching the kinks out of his back, he walks out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, squinting in the dim light, and picks up his phone from the counter.

 

6:55PM. Two messages.

 

 _‘Hello sweetheart._  
_I thought we could have that talk. Please come to my hotel around 6-7._  
_Xxxx Mum.’_

 

The next message holds the hotel address. Loki bites his lip and looks around the longue room. Stark is asleep on the couch, limbs everywhere and drool leaking out of his mouth. Loki thinks he’s earned a trip in the town car by himself, so he calls it in and heads out to Frigga’s hotel, eyes glazing over at the shining city lights blurring passed the car window.

 

He gets to the glittering hotel and makes his way to Frigga’s suite. When he’s allowed in he’s met with a lavish sitting room, decorated with old styled furniture of rich browns and golds. Frigga, dressed in a loose beige clothes, sits in a cushioned armchair. Loki sits in the one opposite, gently cradling the glass of water he’d been given.

 

Frigga studies him awhile. Her eyes narrow and her brows pinch. “Have you been eating?”

 

He absolutely hates these questions. They make him feel so like a child. “Yes.” When she doesn’t reply, he repeats, “ _Yes_.”

 

She eases off, but her lips are still tight. “You look thinner.”

 

Loki forces himself not to feel a stupid surge of satisfaction, because honestly, he probably hasn’t lost any weight and the comment is simply a commonly overused, motherly thought of her independent son starving without her nurture.

 

“So,” Frigga starts when the silence becomes too long, “you’re getting married.”

 

Loki is so _so_ tired, but manages an excited enough grin. “Yes,” he says.

 

Frigga exhales hotly through her nose. “Loki, what situation are you in?”

 

Loki frowns. “I don’t understand.” A pause. “Tony and I love each other. That’s why we’re getting married.”

 

“How long have you known each other?”

 

“Almost a year.”

 

Eyebrows shoot up. “What are his hobbies?”

 

“Drinking himself to death, currently,” Loki mutters. He scales his mother, back straightening. “Why so many questions? Do you think I’m _lying_?”

 

Frigga tries to look unassuming. “I’m simply interested in my sons' choices.”

 

“You don’t think Tony is a good choice?”

 

“Well, he does have a lot of money—”

 

“ _Oh_ , so that’s it. You just think I’ve manipulated my way into the lap of luxury through whoring around.”

 

“Loki, that’s not—”

 

“Because that’s all I do, after all. I don’t bother with stupid things like effort, hard work and _talent_ , god forbid, when I can just scheme my way to where I want to be.”

 

“You be silent right now, young man,” Frigga snaps. Loki closes his mouth. “I don’t think you’re lying to me, Loki, I’m just showing concern. A motherly concern for my son about to make a very big decision. I don’t think you’ve tricked anybody into marrying you for money—why would you? You’ve made it very clear in your time with us that you don’t care for it.” She takes a deep breath. “It’s true, I’m not fond of the Starks. But I think Anthony is a nice enough man. And if this is the decision you’ve made then I’ll support you. I think I’ve made that clear enough.” Loki nods softly. “Right,” Frigga nods back. “We’ve got that clear. Now…do you want to talk about last Christmas?”

 

“No,” Loki says immediately.

 

“Loki,” Frigga scolds.

 

Loki shrugs. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

 

“There’s a lot to talk about. Odin is invited to the engagement party and the wedding whether you like it or not.”

 

Loki gives a pathetic expression, slumping in his chair. “Why?”

 

“Why? Because he’s your father.”

 

“In most ways, no, he’s really not.”

 

“Loki!” Loki purses his lips and puts his glass of water down. “Don’t. Don’t start that again. Your _father_ loves you, even when he’s horrible at showing it. He just…doesn’t understand all of you.”

 

Loki looks away at that. What a nice, mild way to put it. He doesn’t _understand_.

 

“Either way, he’s coming over sooner or later and I don’t want a repeat of last year. I want things to be resolved among you two.”

 

“That’s up to him,” Loki says at length.

 

“Don’t you act so high and mighty. You weren’t exactly the victim that day either, remember.” Loki’s jaw tightens as Frigga stares. She leans forward and takes Loki’s hands. Loki’s so used to the gesture that he doesn’t resist. When Frigga speaks again, her voice has softened. “I know that he said…cruel things to you. We’ve _all_ chastised him for it. He’s seen the error in his ways.”

 

“I find that hard to believe.”

 

Frigga’s expression is pained. “Loki….I know you’re still hurt. You two have trouble seeing things from each other’s point of view sometimes. But he’s really tried. I’ve tried to explain some….things about you to him. I just really need you to try and think of forgiveness.”

 

Loki sets a harrowing glare into the carpet. He stands then, slipping his hands out of Frigga’s grip. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “but I’m really tired. I think I’m going to head back.”

 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Frigga says, standing to hug him. “I hope you sleep well.”

 

Loki heads back to his apartment with a fire ignited in his gut. Odin has seen the error in his ways? Ha! Odin doesn’t believe he’s capable of making errors, let alone atone for them. Oh, and now apparently Odin _understands_ him, how cute. He’ll show that fucker. He hopes Odin comes, he hopes Odin comes and hates Stark just so Loki can stand up at that engagement party, announce his undying love for him and then tell Odin to go fuck himself, and then the photos will click and the shutters will flash and Loki will spread his arms wide and declare ‘ _Yes father! I turned out to be the disappointment you always knew I’d be!_ ”

 

—

 

Tony awkwardly scratches the shell of his ear. Darcy digs her hand into her bag of Cheetos and doesn’t bother swallowing her mouthful before refilling. She wipes her orange fingers on her jeans. Tony throws his gaze to Loki before he can openly cringe.

 

“We doing this?”

 

Loki is sitting stiffly on the coffee table beside him. Tony lets go of the urge to sit a little closer—Loki’s obviously gotten over whatever spit he had yesterday, but has gone cold and formal again, determined and un-distracted. Tony isn’t too worried. He holds onto how Loki came back from wherever he went last night, crawled under the covers with him on the couch and whispered an apology.

 

Loki nods. “Yes, I promised her we’d explain our situation properly in the morning. She _is_ invited to our engagement party.”

 

Darcy makes a happy squeak from the couch. Tony exhales slowly. “Alright…”

 

Loki scoffs. “You’re acting like you’re about to tell your children you have terminal cancer.” He looks at Darcy. “Stark and I aren’t in a BDSM relationship. He’s paying me to act as his boyfriend because he has disturbing daddy issues, non-existent validation and love from his mother and because he likes to toy with people’s lives.”

 

“Wow,” Tony shouts, throwing his head into his hands, “thanks Lokes! Write my next speech for the fucking charity ball.”

 

Darcy erupts into boisterous laughter, dropping the crinkled Cheetos bag to hold her stomach instead. “You two,” she gasps, “are perfect for each other.”

 

Loki smirks.

 

“Really?” Tony asks, head whipping up. “Do we act like it? Do we pass as perfect for each other?”

 

Darcy just laughs harder, abandoning any sensibility to fall backwards onto the couch cushions.

 

When she finally regains herself and slinks out of the apartment and off to wherever it is Darcy Lewis enjoys in her spare time, Tony is uncertain whether she’s even heard anything they’ve said. 

 

But to hell with those possible future consequences, back to Tony’s immediate problem: surviving Loki for two days trapped in a boxed up apartment. If romance movies have taught him anything, then this can only end in two ways. He never thought it could end a little bit of both.

 

Loki sits him down and says that they need to know each other more intimately. Unfortunately, his meant a two hour long lecture about Loki’s family ties. And god forbid Tony ask for a food break, some water or to take a fucking piss, because apparently it was the most important thing in the world to know about how Loki’s Aunt Bestla has the most scolding discourse with his cousin Hoenir.  

 

So you can imagine Tony’s relief when Loki decides it an appropriate time for lunch. He welcomes the hot plate of grilled cheese sandwiches on his lap, even if it’s accompanied by the dramatic string chords of Titanic playing on the TV.

 

For now, Tony finally gets to wear the pants in the situation and starts his own interrogation about Loki’s life. Apparently Loki’s had quite a few boyfriends back in the day. One serious. Tony, in turn, tells of his girlfriends. None serious.

 

“The most significant I’ve gotten in a relationship is maybe buying a girl…an iPod? I think.”

 

“An iPod?” Loki laughs. “How long ago was this? That’s like buying someone…an NSYNC cd.”

 

“Well I assure you it was quite the luxurious gift when I bought it.”

 

“Fuck you’re old.”

 

“Hey, screw you kiddily-wink. At least I wasn’t in pre-school when this fucking movie came out,” he gestures to the screen.

 

Loki blinks. “Tony…” Loki says slowly. “This was 1997.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I was _born_ in 1997.”

 

Tony thinks for a bit before groaning. “Fuck I’m old.” Loki snorts and Tony muffles out the sound by shoving another mouthful of bread and cheese into his mouth.

 

They watch on as Kate Winslet tries to throw herself off the back off a ship.

 

“So you’ve never had a boyfriend?” Loki ask, coyly enough, as he sips his chocolate milk.

 

Tony thinks. “Not _boyfriends_ , per say. Boys? Sure.”

 

“What’s the furthest you’ve gone with them?”

 

It has absolutely no relevance to what they need to know for the engagement party and Tony is so glad.

 

He leans back and stretches his legs out on the pillow they’ve put on the coffee table for this exact purpose. “I have…kissed. On the lips.”

 

“Ooooo,” Loki teases, watching the screen. “Scandalous.”

 

“I have…seen real life men naked.”

 

“How many?”

 

“Three.”

 

“At a time?”

 

“You are vile.”

 

Loki puts his drink down. “I’m sorry. Continue.”

 

“And I have…put a penis in my mouth before.”

 

Loki gasps and applauds. “My, my. Well done.”

 

Tony gives a half-bow. “Thank you, thank you. It was all in community service, I assure you.”

 

Loki’s grin is strange, not one Tony’s seen on him before. He picks up his drink again and watches the screen. “Did you like it?”

 

Tony shrugs. “Eh. It was very spur of the moment. Also a lot of alcohol. But there’s always a lot of alcohol with my decision making. So…” he makes an ‘ _I-don’t-know_ ’ noise.

 

“Would you do it again?”

 

That makes Tony pause. His cheeks feel a little hot as he glances to Loki. “Are you coming onto me?”

 

“No,” Loki says quickly. “I was just asking. I guess I was wondering why you’d pick me to pretend to be your partner if you’ve never had a boyfriend before.”

 

Fair question.

 

“I don’t know…you’re pretty and British? Guess it was just another—”

 

“Spur of the moment.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Loki goes quiet and Tony hopes he hasn’t offended him in some way. The answer for why he picked him being ‘convenience’ isn’t the most romantic thing in the world. No-one speaks so Tony guesses that’s the end of that conversation and watches the movie for a while.

 

Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio are taking part in witty banter. For no particular reason, Tony pictures Loki in movies like this, with dramatic love stories and dazzling young men in suits with romantic dinners and pretty women in their sparkling dresses and rosy cheeks.

 

“Have you ever been at it with a woman?”

 

Loki bursts out laughing. Tony looks humorously at him, eye brow raised. “What? No?” Loki continues to laugh and when he does calm down, he doesn’t even give an answer. “You’d totally bang Audrey though.”

 

Loki pauses from taking a long slurp of his drink. “Oh yeah.”

 

“Yeah. You’d totally let Audrey peg you.”

 

Milk comes spraying out of Loki’s mouth and Tony cackles in delight. Loki darts into the kitchen, hand over mouth. “I hate you,” he warns when he passes him.

 

Loki has class after lunch and his rehearsals take him well into the evening. Tony passes the time by snooping around the apartment, confirming any wedding decisions his mother sends him and trying to sit through one of the more obscure movies in Loki’s collection. He's ten minutes into it before he realizes the whole thing is in French. Needless to say, he is glad when his fake-boyfriend finally does drag himself home, face shiny and limbs tired.

 

They clean up the living room, ridding the soda of crumbs and the different tables of mugs and glasses. They beat the quilts and punch the cushions until the make-bed sofa is once again sleep worthy. Snuggling is less awkward. It may be because Tony plays games like ‘blow in Loki’s ear’ or ‘fake snore until Loki loses it’, he doesn’t know. When Darcy comes home late and joins them, they don’t complain.

 

Thursday passes much the same, until late afternoon when Tony’s sitting on the couch, pink from head to toe.

 

“Uh,” he stutters.

 

Loki holds his face tighter. “Stop wiggling. You’re making it hard.”

 

“Sorry,” Tony says, biting his lower lip.

 

“Don’t bite your lip, how am I supposed to work with that?”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles. Loki waits a beat before pressing forward. Their lips barely touch before Tony’s bowled over laughing, because, he is sorry, but this is ridiculous.

 

Loki throws his hands up. “Why do I bother? Are you just going to be stupid or are you actually going to try?”

 

“I was trying,” Tony manages, wiping an eye and readjusting himself. “Trust me that was...one hundred per cent effort.”

 

Loki tsks and grabs him again. Tony tries, he really does, but he just can’t contain his grins and giggles. They’re a hair-width apart when Tony notices Loki’s lips struggling not to curve too.

 

“You’re totally about to smile.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“You are. You’re gonna smile.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

It’s not two seconds later before Loki snorts and draws away. “Ha!” Tony gestures victoriously. But it isn’t long before Loki’s smile is gone and the glare is back.

 

“We have to get this right, Stark!”

 

“Well you’re doing it wrong! It needs to be spontaneous, here, like this—” He pulls Loki forward and kisses him.

 

Hm, soft. Coffee and cheap breath mints. Before he decides he likes it, Loki shoves him back. “Not like that!”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Too romantic. We need to be ridiculous. We need to be disgusting. Completely fake, like this—”

 

And suddenly Loki has him and holy fuck, the kid could bite. Tony can’t even get an ‘ow’ out before it’s all tongues and hands and then Loki’s pushed him into the cushions and is straddling him with his long skinny legs. Tony slowly adjusts but can’t even get a hand in Loki’s hair before it’s over. Loki releases his mouth and pants over him.

 

“Like that.”

 

“Like that?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Alright.”

 

Tony quickly flips the tables and pushes Loki until he’s the one looming over him. He catches his mouth and Loki makes a small noise of surprise, but quickly accommodates and kisses eagerly back. And they are just as Loki described—utterly vulgar and disgusting. Loki tugs on Tony’s hair and his legs creep up his thighs and Tony welcomes it by deepening the kiss until he’s sure his tongue is fondling Loki’s tonsils. They only stop to take in gulps of breath before plunging in again, as if their goal is to see who can drown each other first.

 

Tony wishes he could say some dramatic, romantic poetry reflecting this moment, that his whole outlook of love has changed, that this is the part where he decides Loki is the _one_ and all those other things you’re supposed to think when you share a first kiss with someone. But to tell you the truth, it’s just _fun_. Tony can feel Loki’s smile against his stubble and he smiles back, until they have to stop because they’re laughing too hard.

 

“Finally a skill you can impress me with,” Loki says breathlessly with an arm over his head, cheeks ruddy.

 

Tony wipes his bottom lip with his thumb and it comes away with spit and blood. “You are foul.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“How long do we need to do this?”

 

(He's not complaining.)

 

“Hmm,” Loki taps his toes on Tony’s leg. “Your tongue needs work.”

 

Tony stares. “…oh you better take that back. My tongue is fucking beautiful.”

 

Loki shrugs innocently. “Well, it must’ve been just a bad day for it, I don’t know…”

 

Tony points to his mouth. “This tongue has pleased _models_.”

 

“Stick-like women who’ve burned all their tastebuds out due to cigarettes and meth? Not impressed.”

 

They stare off for a bit, just long enough for them to drop their smiles and feel a small pebble of embarrassment sink in their stomach, when the doorbell rings for their pizza delivery.

 

They eat quietly and talk about the weather over lunch.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again to the wonderful AlwaysAmusing for introducing me to the word 'shindig'. Life is brighter.


	8. Fathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ah, the guests of honour!” Howard announces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. It's far passed apologising. Let's just skip the face kicking and go straight to havin' a laff about it.
> 
> Film school is fun. I did a story on my cities' baby pygmy hippo. Pygmy hippos are now my screen saver. Save the pygmy hippos.

Apparently a town car isn’t fancy enough for a New York engagement party, so the first stop of the dreaded day is to a garage hidden underneath a rather squat building not a block from Tony’s apartment.

 

A button is clicked and white light floods the room. Loki has to shield his eyes from the glare off of the hoods of fifteen different sports cars; all different colours and builds. He walks in between the glossy rows of them, raising his eyebrows at the more exotic ones. He mentally labels them all: a silver Corvette— Tony’s 21st. A racing yellow Lamborghini— a dumb first kiss. An old Chevy— Daddy’s joy. At last he stops in front of a ridiculously expensive looking Mercedes, midnight blue— Mummy’s choice.

 

“You can pick one,” Tony says coolly, sticking his hands into the pockets of his lazy jacket. None of them are dressed yet, alarming for six in the morning.

 

“These are all yours?” Loki asks, spinning around to face him.

 

“Most. The older builds are my father’s. He doesn’t go anywhere without his Chevy. He brought it when he came over.”

 

“That’s ridiculous.”

 

Tony shrugs. “It’s my father.”

 

Right, fathers. Loki doesn’t like to dwell on the fact that the heads of the Odinson and Stark families are integrating today. The mere thought makes his stomach roil, so he quickly says something before he can ruin the paint on one of those perfect cars by hurling on it.

 

“This whole garage is ridiculous. No-one should have this much money.”

 

“We can show up in a taxi, if you like.”

 

Loki narrows his eyes. Eventually he slinks towards a dark red Jaguar and leans against it nonchalantly. He looks at Tony with a flick of his hair.

 

The corner of Tony’s mouth pulls up. “The Jag it is,” he says.

 

The rest of the morning is spent tutting an poking at one another. Loki is too concentrated to accept any fooling around and Tony knows better than to test him. Darcy seems to be the only one who’s even remotely excited about the upcoming lunch, twirling around in her lavender dress—the only feminine article of clothing she owns, Loki knows. He’s raided her wardrobes before.

 

When Darcy requests someone to help her with her whatever, Loki has a moment to himself in the bathroom. The pink CD player sits behind him, silent.

 

He takes a large breath, wonders for a moment if he could suffocate himself by holding it, then exhales reluctantly before his cheeks can turn too red. Today will be his biggest gig yet, sure to be his greatest performance, but instead of feeling confident he just feels ill. It sickens him that Odin can still make him feel this way, make his skin prickle and his fists shake. Yes, today will be the best joke Loki’s ever pulled on Odin, by far the most elaborate prank, but in the end Odin will win. Because Loki hasn’t changed.

 

When he steps out of the bathroom Tony is sitting on a kitchen stool next to Darcy, artfully painting his lashes black with mascara. Loki’s bares his teeth. A joke, indeed.

 

When the final suit buttons are fastened and the last hairs are swept into place they head out of the apartment and pull themselves into the car, and it’s in that silly red car—top down, ripping through the streets—that Loki finds himself having his first break down of the morning.

 

Tony doesn’t notice until he catches Loki in the review mirror, black jacket flapping in the wind as he cowers on the floor of the backseat, trying to keep what’s left of his head on his shoulders. Darcy is cheerfully bobbing her head to Tony’s horrible taste in music from the passenger seat.

 

“You okay babe?” Tony asks without looking back, and Loki would smack those stupid aviators off his face if he weren’t so preoccupied with not screaming. This time Tony quickly glances over his shoulder. “Loki? Fuck.” He focuses on the road before he can crash into a street lamp. “Darcy, the thing is happening—Loki is—”

 

And Loki really doesn’t care what Stark says after that because his breathing is suddenly so harsh he’s sure it’ll tear holes in his throat. The car banks a corner and his world goes spinning off its axis.

 

Then there’s a hand in his hair and at first he thinks Mother, then strangely Stark and at last his brain trips and stumbles to Darcy.

 

“Breathe,” she says as the car comes to a stop at a red light and at last a handful of air can get into his lungs.

 

Tony props himself up to lean over his seat. “You okay?”

 

“Give me a moment,” Loki bites out.

 

“Today’s going to be fine. I’m sure your family is going to be happy to see you.” Loki doesn’t deign to reply and Tony quickly returns to driving. “I mean your mom was. I’m sure your dad won’t be as bad as you remember.” Darcy gives him one last pat and returns to her seat. Loki continues to breathe, but the more the panic leaves him the more irritation takes its place.

 

“You’re giving _me_ a pep talk on fathers?” Loki mumbles, pulling himself somewhat upright.

 

Tony gives a sheepish shrug. Before replying, he smoothly pulls a flask out of his pocket. Loki’s eyes flash with rage and he knocks the thing out of Tony’s hand before he can take a sip, making him startle. “What the hell was that for?”

 

“You are _not_ getting drunk today.”

 

“Out of all days, this seems like a bit of an exception, don’t you think?”

 

“Do you remember what happened last time you got drunk and introduced me to your family?” Tony only scoffs as a reply. Loki snatches up the flask and tucks it away. “I at least need the comfort that you’ll be sober. No alcohol. Tony? Yes? Are you listening?”

 

They come to another red light and Tony slams on the brakes and Loki flies forward, catching himself before he can hurl face-first into the gear stick. Loki blinks, bewildered as Tony bursts into delighted laughter. “Sure babe. I hear you.”

 

“You’re a fucking asshole,” he gasps. He straddles his shoulder in an attempt to get up.

 

Darcy goes to help him get up with her own fit of giggles and it’s then Loki sees the flash of a camera out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Paparazzi,” he yells, slipping out of Darcy’s grip and crashing into Stark’s lips in a lewd excuse for a kiss.

 

And so begins the day.

 

Loki expected the Lion’s Hotel to be everything the Stark’s embodied, and he sure isn’t disappointed. The enormous building is completely gold plated, making it shockingly intimidating. It looks more like a statement then a real place, a statement that the Stark’s no doubt want to make very clear. Gold-plated buildings for gold-plated people.

 

They hand over their red disaster to a valet and Tony holds out his arm. Loki, after a quick count of no less than twenty press people already lined up before even reaching the front door, all shouting and beckoning, gives a sweet smile and takes it. Darcy follows, bouncing along at his side.

 

They walk into a lobby, cool and bestrewed in marble, and Tony takes off his sunglasses. Loki looks at him and his jaw tightens.

 

“What?”

 

“Mascara. You’re still wearing mascara.”

 

“So?”                             

 

Darcy is waving to the paparazzi and begins performing elaborate poses.

 

“Who are you, Prince?”

 

“Are you really about to give _me_ a pep talk on too much femininity?”

 

Loki struggles not to break his smile.

 

“This place is _bangin’_. I didn’t know this part of New York even existed. Is it covered in real gold?”

 

Tony stares at Darcy for two seconds. “Yes. Our ancestors stole it from the Incas thousands of years ago.”

 

“Cool.”

 

A smiling brown-haired woman begins to lead them to the function room and Loki's gut clenches. When she escorts them into a more secluded hallway and the noise from the lobby is gone, he can very clearly hear his heart thumping in his throat. His arm slides down to grip Tony’s hand.

 

Their escort stops at two giant oak doors. A carved lion sits on the top, it’s chestnut teeth frozen in a gleaming smile. The doors are pulled open and they step under those sharp teeth towards far more dangerous creatures.

 

At first glance they can’t appreciate just how ginormous the room is because of all the people swallowing it up. Standing on the dark wood in all their expensive shoes are the Stark’s guests: all of the business men, the producers, the partners, the friends, the family, the lawyers, the favours, the “friends”, the distantly related and the legally affiliated. Howard and Maria are standing together, Howard’s hand resting on the small of her back, chatting with other groomed men. He raises his head when they enter and his hand gives Maria a small tap.

 

Soon they have the audience of the room. After another quick scan passed all the dresses and pantsuits and shimmering jewellery, Loki realizes that he cannot find Odin, nor Frigga. He deflates somewhat, but his hand still shakes in Tony’s.

 

“Ah, the guests of honour!” Howard announces, not doing much to hide his sarcasm.

 

It warrants a quiet applause as the guests all turn and clap politely. Loki is used to the sound, but today it leaves his stomach churning. He smiles along with Tony and Darcy, as awkward as the moment is. Thankfully the guests go back to chatting among themselves. Less thankfully, Howard and Maria walk over.         

 

“You two look so dashing!” Maria says as she clasps her hands over her chest. Tony and Loki both murmur a thank you.

 

“Son,” Howard nods with smile. Tony twitches. Howard’s eyes slide to Loki. “Son in law.”

 

“Hmm,” Loki hums humorously, “not quite yet.”

 

“Yes, still a couple of weeks until that. But, still just a couple. Are you excited?” Loki hasn’t been around Howard long enough to know all of this tricks, but he knows a challenge when he hears one. Entwining Tony and his arm further, he flashes his teeth.

 

“Couldn’t come sooner.”

 

Howard smiles to disguise his grimace. He looks to Darcy. Immediately his face lifts and he extends a hand. “And who is this lovely lady?”

 

Darcy manages to snort and giggle at the same time.

 

“This is Darcy Lewis, a close friend,” Loki says.

 

“Oh, Miss Lewis,” Maria says with a thin smile. “I was looking forward to meeting you.”

 

Howard kisses Darcy’s knuckles and Loki goes a little green. “Lovely to meet you Miss Lewis.”

 

“ _’Miss Lewis’_ ….” Darcy repeats, her face red from blushing. Maria’s face is going red for a very different reason.

 

Howard looks back to Tony and opens his mouth to say something, but his jaw slams shut. “…what’s that on your face?”

 

“Mascara,” Tony answers immediately. Maria starts to massage the creases in her forehead. “What? It’s my statement.”

 

“Your….statement?”

 

“Yeah.” Loki freezes up when he sees Howard’s expression. He’s shocked by how familiar it is. “Well,” Tony continues defensively, “sorry that I don’t have to rent out a ten thousand dollar room every time I need someone to know that I’m better than them.”

 

“Anthony,” Maria scolds.

 

“You’re right,” Howard says, “this is a ten thousand dollar room. One that _we_ booked for _your_ engagement, so I suggest you wipe that stupid shit off of your face and start showing a little appreciation. We’re here to celebrate and have a nice time. This is for you. Don’t try so hard to ruin it.” With that Howard plucks a champagne flute off of a waiter’s tray and walks off.

 

Tony’s ears are glowing. Maria tightens her lips. “It’s his way of saying—”

 

“ _Mom_ —”

 

Maria gently grabs Tony’s shoulder and steps in close. “Let him get through this how he can,” she whispers. Tony pauses, looks at Howard drinking his alcohol, and then looks back at his mom. With a squeeze she eases off with a smile. “Loki darling! Remember if you want to stay a little longer we can always postpone the flight to Vegas. I have organized some festivities for later in the afternoon when theoretically you’re supposed to be leaving, but I like to plan for anything.”

 

Loki smiles like he isn’t waiting to run out of this building the first chance he gets. “Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

With a final crinkle of her eyes Maria nods and walks past Darcy without saying a word to her.

 

Darcy isn’t bothered. “Well let me tell you; I’m a foster kid and this is the first time I’ve pitied the kids _with_ parents.”

 

They slowly advance into the room to the music of a string quartet playing in the corner underneath one of the six grand chandeliers.

 

“Yes, you have given me newfound confidence that we can get through fifteen minutes of this party without you fucking it up. Tony?”

 

“Sorry, I’m still basking in the thought of not having any parents.”

 

Loki goes to elbow him in his side, realizes the image would look bad, so pulls his jacket collar forward into an unhappy kiss to shut him up instead.

 

Darcy shuffles. “Yeah, so I’m gonna….there’s, like, five different trays of tiny quiches going around—I’m gonna follow them and moosh a couple together into a big enough mouthful to sustain me. Chao.”

 

And she scatters off towards one of the waiters.

 

“How are your koi fish?”

 

Loki abruptly breaks the kiss to face Tony’s grandparents, all wrapped up in expensive furs and gloves despite the ten thousand dollar central heating.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“Koi fish,” his grandmother says (although the word still comes out as a clash of unwanted sounds). She begins to get impatient. “Your koi fish, how are they?”

 

“Well,” Loki stammers. “They are doing well.”

 

She nods, yet somehow still looks unsatisfied. Her nose scrunches up and it takes Loki a while to realize the expression conveyed thought. “What was your name again?”

 

He raises an eyebrow because _honestly_?

 

Tony coughs. “Loki, Grandma. My fiancé. Loki.”

 

“Loki,” she repeats, making him flinch. He hates how his name sounds in her American accent, all hard consonants and whiny vowels. Tony’s grandmother nods. “Alright, yes, I’ve got it. You two do look so very nice.”

 

“All downhill from here, ain’t it son?” Tony’s grandfather wheezes with a throaty chuckle.

 

Tony laughs loudly and shortly. “You two enjoy the party,” he says and leads Loki quickly away.

 

They get two steps before running into another elderly relative. Unlike Tony’s plump grandfather, he is skinny and narrow and looks more like a rectangle than a man in his large black jacket. Crystal blue eyes hang over jutting cheek bones and his chin is a silvery bush of hair.

 

Loki feels a jolt of shock. He hasn’t seen his grandfather Fjörgynn in years. For him to come all this way for _this_ ….

 

“ _Bestefar_ ,” Loki manages. Fjörgynn lowers his head once. When Tony looks between them, lost,  Loki straightens. “ _Bestefar_ , this is my fiancé, Anthony Stark. Tony, this is my mother’s father, Fjörgynn.” He’s a little annoyed that Tony couldn’t figure that out on his own—he didn’t spend all Wednesday lecturing him on his family history for nothing.

 

“You’re gonna have to run that name by me again,” Tony says with a chuckle, offering his hand out to shake. Fjörgynn takes it and nods as kindly as he can—Loki’s older relatives have never taken much to English.

 

He quickly translates it and Fjörgynn’s eyes light up in a smile. They share a small conversation (even in his own tongue, Fjörgynn’s never been much of a talker) and when done he quietly wonders off.

 

Tony stares at Loki as if he’d just sprouted another head.

 

“What?”

 

“You….just spoke something that wasn’t English.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You….know a language that isn’t English.”

 

“Don’t you speak Spanish?”

 

“Everyone speaks Spanish. That sounded like something out of Star Wars.”

 

“It’s called Norwegian, Stark.”

 

“Why the fuck can you speak Norwegian? No-one speaks Norwegian.”

 

“I grew up in Norway. Did you seriously learn nothing this week?”

 

Tony shakes his head at the ceiling, pocketing his hands. “Norway, that’s a…..that’s a made up land. Norway….”

 

“ _Shut up_ and kiss me again.”

 

It goes on like this for what feels like hours: aunts and uncles flit around, twittering congratulations before getting shoved out of the way by more of the same, dying to feign importance. Loki’s family extended to maybe a handful plus a few passed on messages that the staff would whisper to him. Even though his uncle Cul only sent him kind words, he is glad he didn’t show up. He’s still the scariest man Loki’s ever encountered.

 

They handle the attention easily enough; Tony shines an award winning smile, shaking hands just on the right side of firm, and Loki laughs flippantly when cued, sure to compliment any particularly ugly piece of jewellery or rancid cologne. All the while they look at each other dopily, smiles dripping saccharine, and clinging together like tape. Older guests coo and awe and lament the ending of their 5th marriage.

 

They need not care for Darcy, who seems to be having the time of her life eating cocktail wieners and drinking the good wine. Although Tony feels woozy when Howard joins her at the banquet table and starts chatting. Whatever Howard deems important enough to say can’t be good.

 

Eventually Darcy pulls away in a fit of giggles, holding her glass over her mouth to try and smother them. She gleefully leans over to Tony. “I think your dad was flirting with me.” Loki doesn’t think he’s seen Tony look so disturbed.

 

Yes, it’s all going well until Frigga and Odin walk through those doors.

 

Almost immediately Odin and Loki’s eye find each other and it’s like a punch to the throat. Odin looks nearly king-like in his golden clothes and polished eye patch, his thick beard and hair framing his one pellucid eye. He steps forward and the winds outside give a roar.

 

Frigga is a small balm to his imposing form, swathed in creams and pale pinks. Her eyes, as always, are kind.

 

The room stops it’s twiddling to look intimidated for a few seconds, then returns to their conversations. Howard is the only one who holds his attention, raising his sixth wine glass high into the air with a toothy grin.

 

“Odin Borrson himself!”

 

And he quickly drags Maria over to make their company.

 

As stiff as Loki’s legs are he finds them suddenly moving and has to shake his mind out of its stupor to realize Tony’s doing the same thing. Odin is getting closer and closer and all Loki can think about is how much he wishes for one of those glittering chandeliers to crash atop his head.

 

“Okay. Your father is the scariest man I’ve ever seen in my life,” Tony whispers.

 

Odin only gets scarier, bigger and greater the more they approach him and Loki gets smaller and smaller until one lift of Odin’s boot could crush him.

 

“Fantastic of you to come,” Howard says, once they’re all standing together.

 

“This city is repugnant—if the traffic doesn’t kill you the air will,” Odin says, looking more than unimpressed to meet the man’s acquaintance. He doesn’t look at Loki once.

 

Howard laughs good-heartedly before taking notice of Frigga. He introduces himself in the same matter he did Darcy, stuffing as many compliments in as he can. If Maria is annoyed, she doesn’t choose to show it, but Odin surely does.

 

“Mr Borrson, how goes the company?” Howard says afterwards.

 

“Very well,” Frigga answers instead, surprising him. Loki wants to smile but still can’t muster anything but trembling hands and sweat. “It’s been having it’s difficulties, but—”

 

“We usually don’t allow many distractions,” Odin finishes flatly, making it very clear what he thinks of the Starks’ reputable parties.

 

Howard nods, although his smile is tight. “Well I hope you enjoy this one nevertheless.”

 

Odin, without moving an inch, gazes slowly around the room. “It’s a bit much for a couple children, don’t you think?”

 

Loki swallows. It goes down like a mouthful of acid.

 

Howard hums. “The things we do for love.” He whisks Maria away without another word.

 

“You look lovely, Loki,” Frigga says, making Loki jolt.

 

“Thank you mother,” he stammers at the floor. When he manages to look up Odin is staring straight at him and a wave of utter sick passes over him. He clears his throat to keep it at bay. “F-father, this is Anthony Stark—”

 

“Mr Stark, I’d like to speak with my son alone, thank you.”

 

Loki looks at Tony. All Tony can do is slowly nod. “Of course Sir. Very nice to meet you.” Loki watches hopelessly as he disappears among the crowd.

 

“So this is what you do with your time now?” Odin’s voice cuts through the ambience. Frigga squeezes his arm in an obvious plea to stay civil.

 

Loki quietly sucks in a breath. “No. My classes are going well.”

 

“Classes,” Odin repeats. He nods thoughtfully. “I’m sure they’ve taught you many skills.”

 

“Enough,” Frigga snaps. “I will not watch my family submit to throwing passive aggressive barbs at each other.”

 

“I am having a _conversation_ with my wayward child,” Odin says firmly. “He leaves the house without permission and runs away to ‘fulfil his dreams’, which obviously meant prancing around on a stage whilst dragging our family name through the dirt!”

 

Something unhinges.

 

“Not the family name. You crossed me off it, remember?”

 

Odin’s gaze could’ve frozen seas. “Careful, boy.”

 

Something dormant awakes in Loki, something ugly and childish and vengeful and by the time it hurls itself out from within him his lips have already curled into a smile.

 

“That _stage_ I’ll be prancing on is the Shubert Theatre. Anthony is going to be my husband and then yes, all my time will be spent basking in my dress-ups and queerness and being his pretty little housewife.”

 

“Loki!” Frigga shrieks.

 

Odin’s expression disappointedly doesn’t change and a stone of unease sinks in Loki’s stomach.

 

Odin pulls back. “I do not wish to ruin your party, Loki. We will talk. In the meantime, enjoy the Stark name. Perhaps it’ll suit your needs better.”

 

A few minutes later Loki is quivering over in a restroom stall, emptying all the sick and tiny quiches from his gut.

 

—

 

Tony judges, as he watches Odin and Frigga leave Loki standing there looking pale and ill before the kid books it out the doors and into the hall, that the talk didn’t go well.

 

He quickly follows him into the blue and gold tiled rest room and leans against the vanity. He peeks into the half-open stall Loki’s currently praying in. “So. Your father…..” he begins awkwardly. “He really likes his gold, doesn’t he? Pimin’.” Tony guesses by the harsh breaths and no reply that his attempt to lighten the mood has failed. “Listen. If you don’t want to do the fight, we can leave. The car’s outside. We don’t have to do this.”

 

He says this because, yes, Loki is obviously having a much unhappier time than him at this party, but also because Tony’s scared shitless. Loki’s always _told_ him about his family problems but he’s never seen them up close. It’s just gotten through his head how much Loki is sacrificing for him, acting like a fool around his highly respected loved ones (or maybe just ‘liked’ ones, depending on Loki’s mood)…..

 

But also just because Tony is scared. He doesn’t want to get on Odin’s bad-side. It seemed it would to be a painful side to be on.

 

Laughter breaks his thoughts. Short bursts of it, as Loki still attempts to catch his breath. He pulls himself out of the stall and smiles at Tony with that impassioned glint in his eye that promises something fucking terrifying by the end of the night.

 

“No, we’re doing it.” He pushes passed Tony and turns the faucet on, slurping the water to clean out his mouth.

 

Tony watches for a beat. He really thought he had his ticket out of here. “Yeah, but. We could not.”

 

Loki frowns at him, finishing his last gargle. “What are you talking about? What are you saying? Are you _bailing_?”

 

“No!” Tony exclaims, awkwardly leaning his elbow on the smooth stone. “I’m just….entertaining the idea of doing this another time when—”

 

“Ah!” Loki puts a finger over his lips. “Don’t finish. I don’t want to hear your stupid voice. Here's what we're going to do," Tony wonders if Loki knows that he is practically trembling, "you are going to take those stupid thoughts out of your head, escort me back into that stupid room and we are going to do what we've spent the last week planning to do, so I can leave as soon as possible and wash your disgusting family off of my skin. Understand? Yes? Good.”

 

So that was that, he guesses.

 

When he does escort Loki back into the room, it’s not five minutes before Howard takes a tiny spoon and taps it against his glass. The room goes silent and, as Maria watches on with star-filled eyes, Howard begins a speech about the wonders of young love.

 

Loki grabs Tony’s arm. “We need to start the fight now,” he whispers.

 

Tony looks between Howard and Odin and swallows. Of all the times to get a guilty conscience.

 

He finds himself unable to say anything. The grip on his arm tightens. “Tony,” Loki hisses, “ _now_.”

 

“I thought we were going to wait until the party was wrapping up.”

 

“I’m changing the plans. We can fight now.”

 

“Your father is right there.”

 

“So is yours. That’s the _point_.”

 

“You know maybe getting married won’t be so bad,” Tony jokes weakly.

 

It seems that was the last straw. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re _doing this to me again!_ ” Loki suddenly yells. He slips out of Tony’s grip and turns to face him and Tony is shocked at how genially crazed he looks. “What is your problem? What is your problem with commitment? You asked for me to be here, you dragged me into this whole situation and now you want to walk out the door?”

 

If the first yell didn’t garter any attention they certainly have it now. The band stops playing. Howard stops mid-sentence and out of the corner of his eye Tony can see other guests stare in bewilderment.

 

Tony admittedly finds himself the same way. “The fuck are you—?”

 

“Don’t go acting confused. You _always_ do this, you fuck things up then act like it’s everyone else’s fault.”

 

 _I really hate improv_ , Tony thinks, grinding his teeth. Oh well. If this is going off script, then he might as well use the spotlight to actually vent.

 

“You’re such a fucking drama queen…” he groans, driving his palms into his eyes.

 

Loki scoffs, but when Tony glances a look he sees the obvious glee at his contribution. “ _I’m_ the drama queen? As if every aspect of your life isn’t accompanied by—”

 

“You are _joking.._.”

 

“—diamonds and cameras and caviar,” mocks Loki, complete with gestures.

 

“Which you totally do not enjoy at all,” Tony condescends right back. “Yeah, you hate all that attention, all the magazine covers, I’m sure.”

 

“Your life is ridiculous.”

 

“ _My life_ —“

 

“And you’re shit at cooking eggs.”

 

The guests are getting more and more uncomfortable. Across the room, Darcy eagerly watches, stuffing her mouth with little cocktail wieners.

 

Tony barks out a laugh. “You think my life is ridiculous? At least my life is _functional_. This is the first night you’ve talked to your family in ten months and you _still_ can’t get along with them.”

 

There’s a small shocked pause before Loki decides to turn it up notch.

 

“Yes, Anthony, that’s because my family life involves actual feelings.”

 

Tony gapes. “You can’t throw that at me. You build your entire image around pretending.”

 

“You really want to talk to me about pretending?!” Loki screeches.

 

Heat builds up in Tony’s gut. “There you go again, complaining about your situation when you’re the only one that got you here.”

 

“Like you haven’t manipulated this entire situation,” Loki says through his teeth.

 

“Fucking leave then!” Tony exclaims. Audible gasps are heard around the room. “If you’re unhappy then fucking leave!”

 

Loki riles up. “What, so you can replace me? With some other pretty thing that talks less?”

 

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Maybe I’ll find a real girl to fuck.”

 

There’s a pause then. The entire room seems too afraid to breathe. Loki’s expression doesn’t convey much of anything and Tony is confused at why he doesn’t spit an insult at him. Then, Loki nods, turns, snatches a glass off a waiter’s tray and throws champagne in Tony’s face. He struts out the room and Frigga is quick to push and shove past everyone and follow after him.

 

The only sound in the room is Howard trying to hide his laughter.

 

From there, Maria officially declares the party over and guests begin to flood out of the building. Some care enough to shoot him dirty looks or mutter something a little too loud under their breath. When Maria passes him she hits Tony with such a look of disappointment that it hurts.

 

He’s in a more secluded part of the building, waiting for his valet to organize his ride home, when Darcy finds him. He sighs in relief when she walks up.

 

“Oh thank god, these people are looking at me like I just murdered a bunch of children. Where’s Loki?” She shrugs and crosses her arms, not looking happy. Tony frowns, suddenly self-conscience. “You okay?” He juts a thumbs towards the hall. “That was fake. Right? Am I on the same page here?”

 

“Dude…” Darcy whispers, “are you crazy?”

 

Tony is stunned. “No. What?”

 

“You can’t—Loki can’t handle that stuff.”

 

“What stuff? The fight? The one he initiated?”

 

“No, just…” Darcy seems uncomfortable.

 

Tony thinks for a bit. “The girl comment?” Darcy shuffles and the frown deepens. “Uh, not to throw fire at fire but compared to some of Loki’s comments that was rather mild.”

 

She shakes her head. “You don’t know, just…..be careful around that stuff.” She rubs her eyes, tired, and makes her way to the doors. Tony stares after her.

 

“Aren’t you coming to Vegas?” he asks.

 

“I’m terrified of flying,” Darcy says, smiling apologetically. “You guys have fun.”

 

After that confusing confrontation Tony finally finds Loki waiting outside in the parking bay. The winter sun is already setting in the sky, bathing everything in mauve. Before he can get two feet of him a very angry Frigga steps in his way.

 

“If you pull anything like that again,” she says firmly, a quiet rage filling every word, “then this relationship will not continue whether you want it to or not.”

 

He swallows and nods respectfully. “Absolutely.”

 

Frigga’s lips thin. “This will not be a repeated performance. Understand?”

 

“Mum,” he hears Loki whine from behind her.

 

After another nod Frigga leaves him be and Tony approaches Loki carefully. He looks fine enough—his eyes aren’t red, his hair is still immaculate. Still,

 

“You okay?”

 

Loki looks at Frigga, who is sharing words with Odin and Maria. “I’m tired. I want to leave.” Tony rubs his shoulder and Loki lets him.

 

Leave they did, as soon as humanly possible. A driver takes Darcy home while Frigga and Maria agree to take Loki and Tony to the airport. Nothing much is said between any of them. But as soon as they arrive and Tony gets out the car, Maria immediately pulls him aside. “The only reason we’re still letting you both on that plane is out of respect to Loki’s brother and the fact that Loki still wanted to go. This is not a reward for your behaviour.”

 

“I know, mom.”

 

Maria looks around in exasperation. “Ten thousand dollars, Tony,” she says, shaking her head. “Why do you always make everything so difficult?”

 

He doesn’t really have an answer.

 

He also doesn’t know what crushing words Frigga has dished out to Loki, but when they’re finally on the plane (plus one bodyguard Frigga insisted they have, a great towering man called Heimdall) they return to silence.

 

Three hours until Las Vegas.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DONE. DONE DONE DONE.
> 
> Massive shout-out to my lil cheesy bun Aryan (CashMoney) for helping me write this. He pretty much co-wrote it so everyone can give him a hug.
> 
> i want to make the promise that the next chapter won't take six months but i honestly don't know what to trust anymore


	9. Soul Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Idiot love will spark the future"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't take a good portion of a year. I don't mean to sound smug, but gifts will be collected at the door.
> 
> WELL when I started this story I had only two scenes in my head to keep me going and this was one of them and now that's it's written I am officially a lost child limping along a dwindling road until i stubble and fall into an abyss of an ending

 

He isn’t sulking, he’s brooding. It’s….manlier. He’s brooding because Loki has snuggled up in a seat all the way over on the other side of the aircraft and hasn’t said a word for the past half hour.

 

Tony’s chest raises and falls in a dramatic huff from underneath his crossed arms. He sits in _his_ seat twenty feet away, rigid, legs crossed, not knowing what to do with himself. His mind runs over what Darcy had said earlier.

 

_Just be careful around that stuff._

 

Tony is annoyed. Loki is unabashed about his femininity on a regular basis—the waxed legs, the nails, the theater—why on earth would Tony’s stupid little comment upset him so much? He finds it unfair. Tony has always presented himself an open book when it comes to what he thinks of masculinity—the mascara, the drinks with straws, being the little spoon every now and then. He thought that was something they shared. He thought they were on the same page. It seems like they aren’t even reading the same book.

 

He swings his gaze over to their makeshift body-guard for the rest of the evening. The man is six feet of pure bulk, his shirt tortured with the task of containing his massive arms.

 

“So,” Tony says, tired of the silence and hoping to fish at least a glance from Loki, “you fly much?”

 

Heimdall looks up with his unworldly eyes. Then, with a voice like velvet, “No.”

 

“Ah.”

 

Tony hasn’t planned any further than that. He desperately looks at Loki’s silhouette, wanting to say something that could somehow make him feel better, but nothing comes. Not a second later Heimdall stands and retreats to the hostess cabin and Tony is once again left with his thoughts.

 

Okay, so maybe insinuating that Loki was replaceable with a female was a little too emasculating. Maybe he thought Tony was making fun of him. But back on the couch, wasn’t he the one who told him to not hold back? That he wouldn’t get angry at whatever Tony said? It irked him. Loki is treating him like the bad guy and he isn’t.

 

Either way, no matter how rattled Tony feels, he still has a sullen Loki on his hands and that will not do. Bad things happen when Loki is grumpy and in the end Tony wants to enjoy the rest of the evening. If Loki thinks Tony is making fun of him, he’s wrong. Tony loves Loki’s more feminine traits. If Loki doesn’t believe that then he’s going to have to show him. He quietly comes up with a plan.

 

Silently, he gets up and walks into the rest room and takes out his phone.

 

When he comes out Loki is sipping on some champagne (the very drink his jacket still reeks of, thank you very much) and _at last_ looks at him. No one moves for a second until Loki picks up another glass that was sitting on his arm rest and holds it out. Tony raises his eyebrows. A peace treaty, then. He thanks him quietly and takes it and Loki smiles, but doesn’t offer him a seat. Right. A very small peace treaty.

 

He returns to his seat respectfully and watches Loki for the rest of the flight. By the time they land there’s an empty bottle on Loki’s table.

 

Las Vegas is as loud and nonsensical as Tony remembers; as soon as they step out of airport they enter a world of neon. An already tipsy Loki tries to look at everything at once with shiny eyes until Tony has to manhandle him into their awaiting car.

 

“So pretty,” Loki whispers as they glide through the vivid city, rubbing his bottom lip between finger and thumb. Tony smiles sweetly, liking how the alcohol has smoothed out some of his coarse edges. He itches for a drink himself.

 

They’re dropped off at the side of a giant club district, not the fanciest but certainly nothing to scoff at. A young man with golden hair is leaning against a row of palm trees and when he sees them he beams. He starts making his way over and Tony really hopes it isn’t Loki’s brother because he is _enormous_.

 

“Loki!” Thor says cheerfully with a wave. Okay, not just enormous, but _gorgeous_. His eyes are sky blue, his skin is bronze and he’s _killing_ that red blazer. He looks as if god himself had handed him down to dwell with the mere mortals.

 

Tony’s starting to see where Loki’s self-esteem issues may have first taken root. No one grows up next to _that_ and makes it out unscathed.

 

When Loki finally does see his brother and pull himself from the car it’s almost immediately into Thor’s arms. Thor seems just as surprised at Tony—judging from the party, he was expecting more piercing looks and sharp words. But Loki hugs Thor with vigour and hunger and Thor is all too happy to return the favour.

 

“Hi,” Loki says into his shoulder. Thor chuckles, the sound echoing deep from in his chest and just hearing it makes Tony feel warm and fuzzy. How could one man be so _good_?

 

“Hi,” Thor says back. Eventually Loki peels himself off of him and rubs his eyes. Thor frowns. “Are you alright?”

 

Tony almost shits himself. If Loki complains about him and puts him on Thor’s radar then he doesn’t think he’s going to survive the night. The man’s arms are glorious but most surely lethal.

 

“I’m fine,” Loki says without hesitation and Tony releases a breath. “It’s good to see you.”

 

“And you too,” Thor grins. He looks at Tony and the grin falls into a line. “Anthony Stark, I presume?”

 

Tony swallows thickly and offers out his hand. “Yep.” He tries not to look like an asshole.

 

Thor takes his hand in a firm shake and just feeling the strength beneath his palm makes Tony a little dizzy, but luckily it’s accompanied by another smile.

 

“I trust you’re treating my brother well?”

 

“You betcha.”

 

“Good.” He squeezes his hand once before letting go and begins leading them towards the glowing building. “Now come! I’ve organized the best bachelor party of the decade! You’re going to love it. I’ve invited all your friends and—”

 

“All my friends?” Loki asks with a raised eyebrow.

 

Thor’s brows scrunch. “Of course. Everyone from high school, Sif, Fandral, you remember?”

 

Loki blinks slowly, then forces a smile. “Ah. Yes. My friends.”

 

Thor shakes his head at the sarcasm but can’t muster a scold. “Come on, they’ve missed you!”

 

“I’m sure they have,” Loki muses.

 

They all continue walking towards the crowded entrance when Thor suddenly stoops in low to Tony’s ear. “If I ever hear a word of complaint from Loki, we will have a problem…yes?”

 

Tony nods carefully, not comforted at all by the playful slap on his shoulder that follows.

 

Thor takes them into a dance bar with loud thumping music and hot pink lights. The walls are thrumming, the air is thick and the floor is filled with hundreds of people trying to share as much sweat as they can.

 

Somehow Thor has secured a tiny table and it’s there Tony’s introduced to Loki’s ‘friends’: there’s a smirking dark-haired woman who instantly reminds him of a feral cat, a preening blond man, a bored looking Asian guy and another man so big he takes up his own square foot of the floor.

 

The table is already filled with empty pint glasses. When they approach their faces light up but Tony suspects it’s aimed more towards Thor than him or Loki.

 

“The Odinson’s, together again!” the large one cheers.

 

Thor laughs with them and takes a full glass of beer ( _what dance club has beer?_ ) from the dark-haired woman’s hand.

 

“Loki, you’ve gotten taller,” the blond one says.

 

“Mmm, that ridiculous growth spurt has to end someday.” Thor joins in with the fat one’s laughter. Loki’s smile is stretched thin.

 

“And you haven’t changed at all,” he says, feigning cheer. The lights make his cheeks all the more pinker.

 

Ignoring the comment, the woman nods towards Tony. “You’re the groom, I hear? How did you meet?”

 

Before he can answer Loki drawls, “he got me drunk and I decked him.”

 

Laughter erupts.

 

“I’ll drink to that!” The fat man declares, lifting his glass high in the air.

 

The party kicks off from there. After a bumpy introduction Tony finds the company of the Warriors’ amusing, if not loud. They yell and cheer and Thor urges everyone to get up and dance. It seems no-one is really interested in the details of Loki and his relationship at all—they’ve simply heard the word celebrate and plan to do just that, whatever the reason. Not gonna lie, Tony is enjoying himself.

 

In between the bouts of moshing he overhears Fandral attempting to engage Loki in little conversations. It’s obvious the Warriors don’t like Loki as much as Thor, maybe not at all, judging from Sif’s snippy comments and the overall disinterest. But Loki couldn’t care less as he orders another tequila sunrise.

 

It worries Tony. Instead of mouthing off or retaliating to any vague insult sent his way, Loki simply closes his eyes, smiles, and downs his drink. He’s clearly on a mission to forget this day by any means.

 

Tony’s not judging. He wrote the book on self-medicating with a bottle. Which is why he doesn’t say anything and gets a drink himself. Thor finds him at the bar and they agree to a little manly drinking challenge (such a _cool guy_ ) and eleven shots later Tony respectfully gives his crown to Thor.

 

God, how everything feels so much better once you’re inebriated. Slowly, as the hour passes, Tony’s face get hotter, his eyelids get heavier and his smile appears easier. Somehow they’ve all found themselves outside by the mammoth pool with the black night sky hanging over them and the smell of chlorine in the air. The drinking competition seems to be continuing as Thor, Fandral and Volstagg all crowd around the wet bar, spilling as much lager into their bellies as their swollen guts will allow.

 

Loki and Tony lean under an umbrella, watching as the friendly competition turns treacherous and Fandral goes falling backwards into the water.

 

“They’re such idiots,” Loki mutters, playing with his straw and empty cup. Tony takes pity. He slides around to him and slips his arm around his waist.

 

“You wanna get lost?” he murmurs in his ear.

 

Loki smiles genially for the first time that night.

 

With a few whispers in the right ears Tony sneaks Loki into a far more high-end club way up on the upper floors of a building and away from the commotion and noise of the ground. The jackets have come off by the time they enter the club, leaving Loki in his white dress shirt and Tony in his shirt and waist coat. The lights are cool and blue, spilling down the walls like water and the music is more sombre and….abstract.

 

Tony escorts Loki to a personal booth with white leather seats and orders him a brightly coloured drink.

 

Ah, drinking. Something, Tony observes, Loki doesn’t do much of. He orders anything at random, not caring about mixing his champagne with his tequila, not caring to wait even a second after finishing one drink before he’s stumbling for the next one. It’s self-destructive and more than a little dangerous and Tony should tell him to slow down.

 

But he’s having fun. Tony’s on the better side of tipsy now anyway and if he can share one thing with Loki, let it be this. He’s having fun.

 

Loki dances fervidly a few steps from where Tony sits, arms reaching high, eyes closed, hair flying. A few minutes later a large muscled man is dancing with him in the crowd and Loki willingly grinds back, looking to Tony as he does so. Tony smirks and raises his drink. Then Loki is saying something to him and it takes Tony a while to hear it.

 

“Cheating scandal,” Loki shouts, running his hands over the other man’s chest. Tony spits his drink back into his glass. Even seconds away from passing out he’s still so fucking dedicated.

 

Soon he has Loki back in his booth, looking flushed. “You having fun?” Tony asks, amused.

 

“ _Mmmm_ , so much fun,” Loki says. He goes to finish his cocktail and this time Tony takes his hands away.

 

“Nah-ah. You’ve had enough for now.”

 

Loki finds the gesture instantly entertaining, lifting both their hands high into the air. He shuffles closer. “Mm. I like beards,” he says, sliding his hands down to cup Tony’s stubbled cheeks.

 

Tony huffs a laugh. “Really now? Why…..thank you.”

 

And damn, he is _much_ more drunk than he planned to be.

 

Loki lets go of him and buries his face on the table. “I’m saying stupid things….” he mourns. “I’m saying stupid things that are stupid.”

 

“That’s okay,” Tony comforts.

 

“ _No_ ,” Loki says. “My thoughts aren’t thinking of what I’m saying right.”

 

“That’s called intoxication, sweetie.” He pats Loki’s back, wondering if now is the time to head back to the hotel and give him his gift ( _shhhhh_ ).

 

Suddenly the music changes and Loki springs back up like an elastic band. “Ooooo, I want to dance.” He tugs on Tony’s collar. “Come on, I want to dance.”

 

Tony groans. “I’m so tired, you don’t understand.”

 

“No, come on, dance with me.” He scampers up until he’s almost sitting in Tony’s lap. “Please, please, please…” He even sticks his bottom lip out and everything. “I want to dance with you.”

 

Tony sigh drearily and quirks a brow. “….fine. How could I say no to that face.”

 

Loki lets out a delighted squeal.

 

Dance they did—for how long? Tony doesn’t know. They jump and punch the air and rock side-to-side with one another until Loki is so dizzy he doesn’t even register Tony escorting him out of the club and into their hotel room to retire for the night.

 

The room is luxurious, with high windows and cream carpet and a flat screen TV that takes up an entire wall. It’s got one of those fancy narrow fire places filled with black pebbles and Tony immediately turns it on, not because he’s cold but just because he can.

 

Loki twirls into the room with arms spread wide. “I like this place,” he grins.

 

“I’m glad,” Tony says, ushering him into the bedroom where his present should be waiting. And it is, laying there on the giant bed just as he asked, but Loki skips right past it and goes straight to the stereo instead. “Hey, Loki, come look at what—”

 

“Shhh.”

 

It’s top of the line, Stark Industries, and Loki takes no time finding the song he wants. As the guitar and beats start playing Loki seemingly arches into the music, eyes closed and completely content. Tony gives an exasperated sigh, but can’t be angry as Loki slowly dances his way over.

 

“This is….Bowie, yeah?” Loki nods, a serene smile on his lips. “Right. Of course it is.” Loki happily continues moving his body in small movements, his hips tugging to the beat with hands in his hair. Tony coughs. “So hey Lokes, I know I fucked up at the engagement party so I got you this—”

 

Loki holds his hand out. “Spin me.”

 

Begrudgingly, Tony complies. He holds their hands high as Loki spins under them, stretching himself away before rolling inwards to Tony’s chest. With his arms being securely locked around the other man’s figure Tony is forced to rock slowly with him.

 

He tries again. “Loki. Hey. I got you a present.”

 

“Really?” Loki asked, disinterested.

 

“Yeah. If you’d just look over on the—no _don’t spin again_.”

 

He’s too late, of course, and Loki twists underneath his hand elegantly, looking very pleased indeed. This is getting ridiculous. “ _Loki_. Present. On the bed. Please.”

 

“I don’t want anything,” Loki resists, continuing to twirl. Tony changes tactics and leads Loki carefully to where his gift sits and when Loki finishes Tony makes sure he’s facing it and holds fast to his shoulders to stop him from moving again. Finally, Loki looks at what’s on the bed.

 

And becomes very still.

 

“It’s modelled after one of Audrey Hepburn’s famous dresses,” Tony says. It’s true—he did his research in that restroom on the plane and found the perfect one: the dress was black and velvet with cute straps and a simple skirt that would reach, he guesses, just above Loki’s knees.

 

Loki still hasn’t moved so Tony gives his shoulders a little squeeze. “I thought—I just—I don’t want you to feel embarrassed about….anything about you. You like Audrey so I thought I’d buy you a costume. You can wear it, if you want.” Not even another squeeze will make Loki snap out of his silence and Tony starts to get worried that he’s completely missed the mark and Loki is now the most confused drunk person on the planet. “You okay babe?”

 

At last Loki moves. He reaches out with a shaking ( ** _shaking_** _, why the hell is he shaking?_ ) hand and gently strokes the hem of the dress. Tony gives his shoulders an encouraging rub and smiles. “I didn’t want to give you one of those shitty dollar costumes so I made sure it was handmade. It’s velvet, see?” He touches it with him.

 

God he wishes Loki would say something. He’d even take cruel laughter at Tony’s stupid idea at this point. Anything but the stillness.

 

“You wanna try it on?” he asks quietly. “Come on, it’ll be fun.” He sees Loki’s brows drop into a confused expression and Tony thinks maybe Loki is just too goddamned drunk to play dress up right now. He picks up the dress and puts it in Loki’s hands. Loki flinches when it’s given to him, as if the garment is on fire, but eventually grips the fabric close. He looks at Tony.

 

“Um.” He licks his lips as if taste-testing the words he’s trying to say. “I….” He looks at the ground. “The cameras.”

 

Tony blinks. “What?”

 

Loki shuffles uncomfortably. “The room cameras. The cameras.”

 

Tony’s mind ticks slowly. “No one’s going to see you, Loki,” he says. It takes a while, but Loki nods, although doesn’t look convinced. “Look, you don’t have to try it on. I just thought it’d be a nice gift, I might be wrong, I don’t know.” He releases a long breath and scratches his neck.

 

Again, Loki is reduced to silence, staring at Tony’s feet. Tony is ready to take the dress out of his hands and put him to bed when Loki suddenly nods.

 

“Okay.” And he quietly walks into the ensuite.

 

Half an hour later Tony is lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling and tapping his leg to the Bowie playlist that continues to fill the room. He hears the bathroom door slide open and he quickly gets to his feet.

 

Loki looks….strange. The dress is too big around the middle where a woman’s hips should be and the black makes his skin all the more pale. He’s used one of the hotel’s shitty packets of mascara on his lashes and although it’s lumpy in places his green eyes shine from underneath them. Hmm. The more Tony takes in the image in front of him the more he likes it. Loki in a dress is…strangely more arousing than he first thought.

 

His throat tightens. “You look very pretty.”

 

Loki fidgets with the skirt nervously. “Thank you,” he says weakly.

 

“Do you like it?”

 

He nods once, swallowing.

 

The mood is a foreign one. It’s not awkward or unpleasant but it’s so intensely intimate that it makes Tony’s head whirl. They’re not just playing dress up.

 

He walks forward. Without really thinking about it, he slowly sits his hands on Loki’s waist. Loki doesn’t reject him—in fact Tony hears his breath quicken. He licks his lips, wanting to say something to make him snap out of whatever is happening, but instead runs his hands down to Loki’s hips. He’s sure that was the right move.

 

When Loki lunges at him and snatches his lips it’s too quick and their teeth clack together. Tony lets out a surprised laugh but recovers quickly so he can meet his lips again, this time to more success. Soon he has Loki’s arms around his neck and they’re kissing with vigour.

 

It’s different from when they practised. Loki isn’t smiling against his stubble or taking breaks to shoot teasing comments or laughter. Loki clings to him like something obsessed, almost desperate in the way he presses himself to him. After a few more seconds of hungry embrace and sloppy making-out Tony all of a sudden tastes salt.

 

“Wait wait wait,” he says, pulling back. “Are you crying?”

 

Loki immediately shakes his head, ignoring the few black-stained tears wetting his cheeks. “I’m not.”

 

“ _Uh_ , okay—” Tony can’t finish before he’s promptly dragged onto the bed and then Loki’s mouth is back on his. He can only manage a muffled grunt as Loki twists them until he’s lying underneath him, arching upwards to grind their bodies together. Tony completely forgets what was worrying him for the next few minutes of porno-worthy foreplay, but eventually the kisses get less urgent and fewer between.

 

Tony breaks away altogether and looks down at the velvet clad body beneath him. Loki looks up with red cheeks and hooded eyes and as Tony stares at those dilated, glazed pupils, he sighs. Loki is so, so drunk.

 

Loki stares back, breathless, confused. Tony releases a breath in defeat and shakes his head. “Come on kiddo,” he smiles tiredly. “Let’s get you to sleep, yeah?”

 

Loki takes a while to register what he’s saying. Eventually, he nods, but Tony doubts he’s aware of what he’s agreeing to. “Mmm.”

 

“Okay.” Gingerly, Tony sits up and tugs the quilt out from underneath them and readjusts the pillows for them both. Sliding next to Loki and throwing the covers over them, he snuggles down. Loki seems completely on board with the idea and curls into his side. After a few seconds his eyes close and his breathing evens out.

 

Tony gives him a chaste kiss on the forehead and lies his head down. In the end, he thinks his present was a good idea.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Loki played was 'Soul Love' by David Bowie because god forbid I listen to anything other than the Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars.


	10. The Narcissist In Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the next second Loki is leaping at him and there are hands around Stark’s throat.

 

The first time Loki opens his eyes, the pain that throbs through his skull is so intense that he’s not sure whether he falls asleep or blacks out a few seconds later.

 

The second time he wakes he takes a few minutes to focus on the fuzzy image of what appears to be a bedroom, tries to mumble something, but falls asleep mid-sentence.

 

The third time he manages to lift his head. Squinting, he cranes his gaze around the room before settling on a fancy bedside clock that tells him it’s well past two in the afternoon.

 

He groans and sits himself up. He glances at Tony sleeping next to him, recognizable only by the tuff of hair sticking out from under the covers. Loki shifts and his dress strap falls off his shoulder.

 

Wait.

 

He looks down at himself and frowns when he find black velvet. After inspecting it and discovering the garment opens into a skirt over his legs, a bolt of white hot panic shoots through him. He scrunches the material in his hands and stares, trying to sort out the whirlwind of emotions in his head and stop himself from doing something stupid like tremble.

 

Tony rustles and wakes beside him. Loki doesn’t grant him a good morning and instead bolts out of the bed as if it were a tub of hot water. His knuckles turn white against the black.

 

“Hey…you okay?” Tony drawls, voice thick with sleep.

 

Now, Loki trembles. Confusion twists to rage and humiliation. He tears the dress over his head and throws it at Stark, leaving him standing there seething in his underwear.

 

“What the fuck is this?” he hisses.

 

Tony frowns and pulls the dress off of his head. He blinks and looks at it like it isn’t the most insulting thing Loki’s ever seen. “What do you mean? It’s the present I got you.” He sounds deviously innocent.

 

“Present?” Loki scoffs. “Is that a joke?”

 

Tony looks confused and more than a bit hurt. “What? No, why would I—”

 

“Because it’s funny, right? Because I look and act like a girl?”

 

“Loki—”

 

“Is this some sick fantasy of yours? Did you and Thor have a good _laugh_?”

 

He can’t stop his hands from shaking. His face burns with shame.

 

“Loki,” Tony says firmly, climbing to his knees. “I swear to god that the dress was just a gift. I thought it would make you feel better after what I said at the engagement party.”

 

Loki stops short.

 

“You think my behaviour after the party was because of _you_?” That catches Tony off guard, but Loki can’t stop now, the rage is uncontrollable. “Is your tunnel vision that bad? Are you _literally_ incompetent at thinking about anyone other than yourself?”

 

“Are you incompetent at calming the fuck down?” Now Tony is riling up to meet his tone. “I bought you a fucking dress to make you feel better, sorry I didn’t catch the 100-page booklet on what you were feeling at the time—I’ll be sure to pick it up.”

 

“Why would a dress make me feel better?!”

 

“I don’t know! I was trying to be observant! Audrey Hepburn, you like Audrey Hepburn!”

 

“Right, like you give a shit,” Loki mutters.

 

Tony’s hands turn to fists. “Well, you certainly were appreciative last night.”

 

An anvil drops in his stomach. “So you took advantage of me?”

 

“ _Fucking hell_ ,” Tony curses, close to ripping the hair out of his head.

 

“What?” Loki asks bitterly, “are you used to batting eyelashes and compliments after a night like that?”

 

“I am not the bad guy!” Tony outright yells.

 

“No, you’re just a selfish asshole!” Loki yells back, setting off the hangover in his head and making him even angrier.

 

“And you’re just a whiny bitch literally making drama over nothing!”

 

“Fuck you, Tony,” Loki growls, storming off to the bathroom.

 

“Fuck you!” Tony delivers right back.

 

Loki slams the door.

 

The only thing worse than being stuck in a hotel room with someone whom you want to strangle, Loki finds, is being stuck in an airplane with someone whom you want to strangle.

 

Before the flight Tony and Loki shuffle around each other as they pack their stuff, not making eye contact. Loki doesn’t even want to think about the stupid dress, but he does notice how Tony grabs it and packs it with his suit jacket. His teeth clench and his stomach twists.

 

He puts on his happy face for Thor, who squeezes him in a hug so suffocating Loki thinks he’s been bent in half. His ‘friends’ are already at another bout of partying and don’t bother fairing him well. He’s not unhappy. Afterwards Heimdall escorts them back to the airport and onto the plane.

 

And now here they are, trying to see who can out-passive-aggressive each other for the next three hours.

 

Tony falls asleep after the first twenty minutes and Loki doesn’t know why, but that makes him hate him more. He stares out the window sourly, arms crossed and lips pursed. There’s still enough anger in him to break bones.

 

They arrive in New York in a decidedly worse mood than when they left it. Loki walks into his apartment with a sigh of relief and some of the tension in this shoulders release. It’s short lived. Tony walks in after him, chucking his jacket over the back of one of the kitchen stools. Loki doesn’t know why Stark chose to come back to _his_ home, but it’s not like he’s going to ask. He still hasn’t spoken a word to him.

 

Tony immediately leaps onto Darcy’s laptop and starts tapping away at the keyboard. Loki rolls his eyes. Tony sniffs loudly and he rolls them again.

 

Darcy slinks out of her bedroom in a scratchy looking green sweater. Her face shows the clichéd signs of a bad sleep—purple bags under the eyes, bitten lips, wild hair. Her eyes squint without the aid of her contacts.

 

“Dude!” she celebrates weakly, holding her arms out and walking over to him. He welcomes the hug, burying his nose into her neck.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Holy crap, how was Vegas? Or can you not tell me due to the code.”

 

“It was…..something.”

 

Tony snorts from the couch and Loki almost breaks his neck for daring to.

 

“Hey Tony,” Darcy greets. She gets a wave in response. “Well,” she says to Loki, “you need a welcome home cocoa. It’s cold as balls.”

 

Loki sits at the kitchen counter and soaks up Darcy’s company until he hears Tony curse.

 

“Fuck. Well, that’s just great.” Loki glares as Tony stands, holding up his phone. “ _’Tony Stark and his new fiancée look perfectly content during their extravagant engagement party as they await their big day, which Howard Stark confirms will be a December wedding_.’ No mention of the fight. No forums, no blog posts, no fucking trash gossip. Nothing. My mom’s just sent me bouquet selections. They’ve practically deleted all memory of anything happening.”

 

Loki looks at him. “What do you want me to do?”

 

Tony looks at him like he’s insane. “Want you to _do_? This was your plan. This was your job. It was supposed to work and it hasn’t!”

 

Darcy stops preparing hot cocoa.

 

“You want me to break us up? Fine,” Loki says airily. “I’ll call my mother now and tell her.”

 

Tony glowers. “You know that isn’t a part of the deal.”

 

“Why not?” Loki asks, standing so they’re eye-to-eye. “Oh! That’s right. This is all about your precious image. Your weird fucked up need to play mind games with your father instead of facing him like a man.”

 

“You don’t know a single damn thing about my father,” Tony seethes, eyes suddenly glassy and _oh yes_ , Loki wants to see him hurt.

 

“I know you’re terrified of him. I know you’re terrified of becoming him but _look at you_. Narcissistic rich boy who drinks instead of dealing with his problems.”

 

“Hey!” Darcy tries to intervene from the kitchen, but the argument is already too hot for her to touch.

 

“We had a deal,” Tony says, raising his voice.

 

“We never had a deal!” Loki says. “You’re blackmailing me and using me.”

 

Tony broadens his shoulders and takes an obvious step forward into Loki’s personal space. “Well I’m _paying_ you, so you can do as I _say_.”

 

In the next second Loki is leaping at him and there are hands around Stark’s throat. They go crashing onto the floorboards in a mighty tumble and Loki wastes no time throwing the first punch. It hits Stark’s cheek with a smack and bruises bloom from under his knuckles.

 

“Loki!” Darcy yells, racing over to drag the enraged boy off—but Tony takes care of it instead. He easily throws Loki to the side and takes a moment to catch his breath. But Loki has gone past reason and has gone straight to feral. He lashes out, nails drawn like claws, and when Tony leans back to avoid them he springboards off of the floor and back onto Tony’s middle.

 

A throat is underneath his hands again. He feels the clawing and tugging of Darcy at his back but all he can see and hear is pulsing red. Spit begins to pool in Tony’s mouth.

 

Before Loki can think to squeeze harder Tony’s grabbed the closest piece of furniture and brought it down on Loki’s head. Loki barely misses and stumbles to his feet but now Tony is charging forward.

 

Darcy shoves him back. “ _Stop it_!” she screams. “Both of you, stop it!”

 

“You _cunt_ ,” Tony says through his teeth, heaving against Darcy’s hold.

 

“No, that’s what I have, remember. You like to remind me a lot.”

 

“Both of you, shut up!” Darcy shouts, but the bait has been set and Tony surges past her with a growl.

 

They fight. They throw punches and spit and Tony gets a new scar on his cheek from one of Loki’s nails. Darcy is hitting Tony’s back desperately. The apartment is nothing but chaos.

 

“Where do you get off, huh?” Tony grabs Loki by the collar and yells in his face. “Where do you fucking get off?!”

 

A good question. Loki knows he’s the reason for all this needless violence but he can’t stop it now. He’s never been good at de-escalating situations.

 

Tony seems to solve that by throwing him to the ground, where his skull hits the corner of the coffee table, slicing it open.

 

Loki can’t even muster a cry the pain is so sudden and intense. He bowls over onto his knees, holding his head where the blood is starting to ooze.

 

“Fuck,” Tony says from where he stands, suddenly sobered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I didn’t mean to do that.”

 

“Both of you take a walk!” Darcy shrieks, pointing to the door.

 

“No,” Loki whispers. He stands up and wobbles, keeping a hand firmly on his forehead. “No, fuck all of you. I’ll leave.”

 

He walks past both of them, head stubbornly bent at the floor. “Oh, why do you have to be so god-damned dramatic Loki,” he hears Darcy hiss, then the door is closed on them and he’s alone.

 

He’s goes to the nearest convenience store and buys a lighter and a pack of cigarettes and sits down in the neighbourhood basketball court. It’s dark and freezing. No one is out this time of night in this part of town, and those Loki does see are bundled up tightly in layers of overwear. Loki fights the urge to rub his shoulders, still only clothed by his thin dress shirt. He relies on the adrenaline still pumping through him to keep him warm.

 

Ice and slush have built up on the out skirts of the court. Loki stubbornly sits on the edge, back against the wire fence. He sits and listens to the ambulances and fidgets with the lighter as he thinks.

 

 _Well done_ , his inner thoughts congratulate sarcastically. _Bet you’re very proud of yourself_. Loki curls his arms around his knees, flicking the lighter mindlessly. The whole situation feels depressingly familiar and he doesn’t feel any less sick because of it. Whether it be his father, his teachers, his classmates and now Stark, Loki always seems to find himself here, biting the hand that feeds him for no reason other than spite. It’s like he was born with a switch permanently set to self-destruct and he’s never learnt out to switch it back.

 

The seat of his jeans are soaked. He sticks a cigarette in his mouth and tries to light it, but the lighter struggles against the smallest of breezes. It doesn’t take long for him to give up.

 

So he sits there feeling sick until his pants have started to frost and the numbing cold has spread to his brain and he can’t think any longer. The blood running down his face has long since dried.

 

Whether to his relief or disdain Tony arrives. Loki, shivering, watches him enter the court and slowly trod over to him, dressed far more responsibly in a large coat and boots. When he arrives he lets out a big sigh and drops an extra jacket into Loki’s lap before flopping down beside him. Loki manages a quick, tight-lipped smile before tugging it on. Relief, definitely relief.

 

“Thank you,” he says quietly, after some silence.

 

Instead of replying, Tony reaches over and grabs a cigarette from the box. “Yoink.” He takes the lighter and successfully lights it on the first try. Soon thick smoke joins the clouds their breath make.

 

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Loki says lamely, not really knowing how to start a conversation. He eyes the scar on Tony’s cheek. It’s deeper than he first thought.

 

“Touché,” Tony muses. Then he shrugs. “Only when I’m feeling extra self-destructive. Not as sexy as a glass of brandy. Such an old-man thing to do.” Finally Tony looks at Loki, first his scar then his eyes. “I’m sorry I called you a cunt.”

 

The laugh that comes surprises both of them. Loki quickly recovers and looks away. “I deserved it.”

 

“No,” Tony says, “you didn’t.”

 

Loki suddenly feels heat building up behind his eyes and he doesn’t know why. He realizes that he really doesn’t enjoy fighting with Tony.

 

They don’t talk for a while, just listening to the sound of tobacco being singed and cars getting jump-started.

 

“I think I hate myself,” Loki says. He feels Tony look at him. His stomach twists and he’s glad he’s too numb to feel horrified at that embarrassing announcement.

 

“Yeah…..” is all Tony can say and Loki can’t blame him.

 

The heat gets more intense. “I always fuck it up.”

 

Tony scoffs. “Oh please. You are talking  to the master of fucking things up.”

 

“Really?” Loki says, suddenly spitting and filled with too many emotions to know what to do with. “I’ve alienated my entire family. I ran away from home without consideration for anyone to become a fucking actor.”

 

“Yeah, you left home to _do_ something. You know why I left home? To sleep with European girls and party,” Tony retaliates, almost matching his intensity. “All while still using my dad’s credit cards.”

 

Loki stares at him for a while, softening at the blunt honestly he’s been given. He deflates. “Yeah, well, one time I poured glue on a girls head at a performance in front of the whole school.”

 

Tony’s eyes bulge. “What the fuck? You _monster_. I can do you one better though—I once threw my father’s three hundred dollar cigars overboard on a cruise ship just because I didn’t want to share my suite with the maid.”

 

“But you see, I completely believe you,” Loki grins.

 

Tony shrugs and gives a wiry smile. “Yeah. I kinda suck.”

 

“Within a week all of my classmates hated me.”

 

“Ah! See mine loved me, but I used it to manipulate girls and feed my ego.”

 

Loki takes a moment. “I know my father acts the way he does out of love and because of his own upbringing and I still hate him.”

 

“I’m honest to god not sure if my father loves me or not.”

 

They fall silent again, taking the moment to better understand each other. It’s not long before Tony squishes his cigarette into the snow and climbs to his feet.

 

“C’mon snowflake. I’m freezing my ass off. And we really need to check up on that gaping portal on your head.”

 

Loki agrees, but before he gets up:

 

“Thank you for the dress.”

 

Tony stops to stare. Eventually he smirks. “Was that so hard?”

 

Loki gets to his feet and punches his shoulder, but the laughter it evokes is the most pleasant thing he’s heard all week.

 

They arrive in the apartment looking a little colder and scrappier than when they left and Darcy rolls her eyes and pulls out the medical kit. For the next hour Loki sits on the couch, twitching and grunting as Darcy sticks him with needles and sews him back together. Tony holds the phone with the WikiHow article up carefully for her to follow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too long but!! In two weeks I graduate film school with a diploma. Then I am officially a lost child limping along a dwindling road until i stubble and fall into an abyss of an ending


	11. Lady Stardust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As soon as Loki wakes he knows it's a Bad Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so late i got lost in the bathroom

 

Loki quietly enters his parent’s hotel room when allowed, too rigid and too aware of the heavy bandage on his forehead. Frigga’s face, ready as always with a welcoming smile, immediately slacks in shock. “What on earth happened to your head?” she gasps.

 

Loki, not happy to be here let alone to calm her worries, shrugs. “Wrong place wrong time, I guess,” he says, probably too flippantly.

 

“If this is the aftermath of that engagement party,” Frigga starts, eyes storming into something terrifying.

 

“No, no! it was my fault,” Loki says quickly, stepping further into the suite. “You know, New York.” Her lips tighten, but she doesn’t push.

 

“One day I’ll get a straight answer out of you,” she mutters, not unlovingly, and leads him into the sitting area. “He’s waiting in here for you.”

 

Loki nods nervously and takes one large, final step into the room. Odin stands next to one of the plush armchairs, in the middle of making a cup of tea. Loki stands silently and watches him dunk the teabag three deliberate times before adding milk and turning. When he sees the ugly mess of white gauze that is Loki’s forehead, he only raises an eyebrow.

 

“My son,” he says, and as much as Loki wants to keep the fire in his chest blazing, it does smoulder somewhat at that. Odin gently picks up his mug and gestures to the armchair. “Sit.”

 

Loki does, and swallows a punch of intimidation when Odin does not.

 

“I know…..that I had been…..” Odin takes a long pause. “ _Have_ been, perhaps, inattentive to you, in your,” he gestures vaguely at Loki, “need, to define yourself and your passions. I know I have also, perhaps, been cruel, in my reaction to it. I merely didn’t want to nurture anything that might of brought you harm or suffering in your life.”

 

Loki realizes suddenly, hysterically, that this is Odin apologising. The fire returns tenfold. “I’m not suffering because I’m a fag, Odin.”

 

The teacup comes slamming down, hard enough for tea to spill and the lamp shade to rattle. “You see,” Odin growls, shaking his wet cuff, “this is what you do, Loki, you have this innate need to antagonize everyone around you!” Loki can’t retaliate without lying, so he stays silent. “I am not trying to upset you or bring up past arguments, I am simply trying to explain that my current anger has nothing to do with them. I have no care of how you chose to live your life, or—” a fumbled grunt, “who with.”

 

_Jesus fucking christ_.

 

“What does matter is how your actions effect—and reflect—onto others.”

 

“Why does it matter what I do? I’m not an Odinson anymore, you took care of that, so why does it matter?”

 

“I took away your claim to the inheritance _temporarily_ , Loki, until you straightened yourself out, which obviously has not happened!”

 

Loki sits back in his chair. “What the hell does that mean?”

 

“Calm yourself.”

 

“Calm _my_ self?!” Loki shrieks. Odin sighs, rubbing a crease between his eyes.

 

“This marriage to Stark’s boy,” Odin says. “It’s…..unbecoming, of an Odinson heir. And although you play it very well, I don’t think it will make you happy.” Loki’s throat closes up. “Frigga and I will come to the wedding, of course. But I can promise you I will not entertain many more of these childish, attention seeking spectacles.”

 

Loki stares, turning over each word in his head. “You’ll give me my inheritance back if I don’t marry Tony.”

 

“It was never _your_ inheritance, and don’t twist my words. A person’s spouse is a reflection of their character, and Stark’s boy lacks in anything that I would call productive, or worthy. It’s exactly the kind of thing I’d hoped you’d maybe grown out of. I ask only for you to reflect on _your_ character, and make your decision based on that. And yes, in this we might see whether you have grown.”

 

Loki walks out of that hotel positively shaking with rage. How dare he. How dare he take even _this_ , this stupid, silly joke meant to be a few weeks of amusement and turn it into proving his very worth. How dare he force him into a choice, even if this isn’t real, how dare he take that away from him, snatch his cards from his hands and tuck them away and lock them in a drawer and then tut at him for daring to play. _How dare he_.

 

When Loki gets home it’s straight passed Darcy, straight passed Tony who’s blathering on about something and into his room with the slam of a door.

 

—

 

Tony knew that any conversation between Loki and his father wouldn’t go well, but he wasn’t expecting the absolute force of hurt anger that barrelled through the apartment door.

 

“Hey, Loki-pokě, you want some…?” Darcy trails off and lowers the slice of pizza she was offering as Loki storms passed her.

 

“Lokes, hey,” Tony greets from his sprawl on the couch, laptop on his stomach. “I got some research done and I think I’ve got a good recommendation for a….” He too is only answered with a whip of air and then a door slam.

 

Dejected, Tony climbs off the couch and walks towards the hall. He stops when Darcy coughs. “I wouldn’t,” she says.

 

“But I did work!” Tony whines. And he did, really. He’s been emailing people all day trying to find a publicist insane enough to take on their little mix-up. They had to be credible, they had to be confidential, they had to have the patience of a saint and Tony thinks he might’ve just found the one. He was excited to show Loki, to prove to him he _can_ clean up his messes and now he just feels stupid.

 

“It’s not you, don’t worry,” Darcy says, leaving her pizza slice on the kitchen counter. “Welp, I’m gonna hit the hay.” She does a little stretch. She sees Tony standing there holding the laptop, looking at the hall with puppy eyes, and exhales with a slump. “You wanna bunk with me?”

 

Tony’s head swings around. “Really?” After throwing her best friend across the apartment a day ago, it’s the least Tony was expecting from her.

 

“Yeah, might as well let you sleep on something other than a two-seater for once,” she yawns, leading the way into her bedroom. Tony smiles and follows. They fumble around sleepwear for a minute before nestling down under the purple quilt, head to tail.

 

“Thank you,” Tony says earnestly, snuggling into his pillow, trying not to spoon the Astro Boy plushie next to him.

 

Darcy shoots him lazy finger guns. “Pew pew.”

 

Tony snorts.  “Hey, so, what’s your deal? Like, do you go to school, or…..?”

 

Thankfully Darcy doesn’t sound annoyed with talking instead of sleeping. “Ehhhhh. I’m doing night classes at the community college. I dunno. I think I might want to be a scientist, or a journalist, or a policeman.”

 

“Police officer.”

 

“What?”

 

“Officer. It’s police officer, now.”

 

“Oh, yeah.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

“’You’re welcome’? Welcome for what, equality?” Tony laughs and Darcy kicks him. “Huh? Huh?”

 

“You’re funny,” Tony smiles. “So a scientist or a police officer. What classes are you taking?”

 

“Physics or something.”

 

Tony lifts his head. “Wow.”

 

“Yeah! Right? I’m fuckin smart, man.” Her voice starts to drawl. Tony feels his eyelids get heavy himself. “I dunno,” she mumbles. “Life’s hard. Figuring out life’s hard. You’re never where you’re supposed to be.”

 

Tony hums, either in agreement or just to support the end of the conversation. He soon drifts off into a mindless sleep.

 

—

 

As soon as Loki opens his eyes he knows it’s a Bad Day.

 

He stares at his cream wall. He shuffles his legs under the teal comforter and winces as his bony knees knock against each other. He reaches down and pinches his hips, both too wide and too narrow at the same time and a wave of violent displeasure wades through him. He pinches harder, intending to hurt instead of inspect. It does nothing but make tears bloom in his eyes and cause another wave of sick. His hair feels greasy from not washing it the night before.

 

Arms, horrible. Stomach, ugly. Chest, disgusting.

 

He’s suddenly so overwhelmed that he sobs. He cups a hand over his mouth, lest anyone in the apartment hears him. He doesn’t want to bother anyone with this silly shit. Or maybe he does. He doesn’t know.

 

_What do you want, you stupid thing?_

 

He’s crying now, snot and tears running down his face as he shudders and gasps into the palm of his hand.

 

Stupid and ugly. _Stupid_ and _ugly_. Deformed looking, skinny, queer, overdramatic repulsive _loser_ —

 

_Stop crying_.

 

**_Stop_** _**crying**_.

 

He even fails at that.

 

Then his bedroom door opens with a soft squeak and Loki’s efforts to stop shaking only increase the tremors. He quickly wipes the snot from his face, making everything sticky and gross and tries to get his breathing under control because if Stark sees him like _this_ ….

 

“Hey,” Darcy’s voice is soft as she makes her way over to where he’s flat on his side against the wall. “Hey, hey…one of those days or just shitty?”

 

Loki takes a breath that turns into a wet mouthful of salt. Don’t bother her, it’s nothing, don’t _inconvenience_ her, stop crying, it’s childish, it’s _weak_ , it’s girlish, it’s _unbecoming of an Odinson_ —

 

“I-I don’t t-think,” Loki punches out, digging his nails into his shoulders in a cruel hug, “t-that I can go t-to class today.”

 

“That’s okay.” The small bedframe dips when Darcy sits down. “With your stiches I think they would’ve sent you home anyway.”

 

It’s a tiny comfort. Loki tries to calm down but is hit with another wave of _someone is here, someone is **seeing** this_ , and gets overwhelmed again. He squeezes his eyes shut and when that doesn’t cut it he covers his face.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, this is so stupid, I’m sorry.”

 

“Shhh, it’s not, it’s not,” Darcy says. Suddenly there are fingers in his hair, stroking softly and he jumps at the contact. “Is this making things better or worse?” she asks when he does.

 

Loki takes a few shuddering breaths. “B-better,” he says, although he’s not sure himself.

 

The stroking continues. “Do you want some of my depression pills?” Darcy whispers. Loki shakes his head. “Anti-anxiety?”

 

“M-maybe.” _What, you can’t stop crying on your own?_

 

“Do you want some toast?”

 

_So your hips can be even wider? (Do I want them wider?)_

 

_Shut up_. **_Shut up_**.

 

His crying must have returned tenfold because Darcy is hushing him again, running smooth fingers through his horrible greasy hair. He’s already embarrassed himself this much, and it’s not like it’s something Darcy hasn’t witnessed before, so Loki allows himself to cry, to weep at his discomfort and self-loathing and at the fact that this _isn’t normal_ , that this is a _problem_ , and at the fact that he knows his father’s opinions don’t matter, that the world’s opinions don’t matter, and that in his very core Loki knows all this and it _doesn’t help_. Running away _didn’t help_.

 

Darcy stays with him until he’s cried his tears and talked his agony down into a dull throb. He’s left exhausted, a whole new depression taking him over as he stares at the wall and rides out the last few shakes.

 

Darcy still strokes his hair. “I’m going to make you some toast, okay? I know it doesn’t feel like it will help, but it will.” Loki doesn’t have any fight in him so he nods numbly. He feels her pull away and hears the door squeak again and then he is alone.

 

_I hate myself_ , he thinks without passion. It always comes down to this. The worst part is he doesn’t even know what would make him better. He knows he hates how he is but he can never pin-point exactly _what_ about being Loki that makes him so repulsed. After all these years, he still finds himself a problem with no answers. Sometimes the thought of living as himself is so demanding, so _tiring_.

 

The door opens again and either Darcy has made the quickest slice of toast in human history or Tony has found him. He really hopes it’s the toast.

 

“Heyyyyy,” Tony says, trying to sound breezy and failing. Loki hears two footfalls approach and stop in the centre of the room. “Darcy said you were having a bad day…..did you want some company? A…..frappuccino or something?”

 

Loki’s nose makes an embarrassingly loud sniffle. He hugs himself and presses against the wall, wishing Tony away. Tony does the opposite and walks right up to the bed and lays down next to him, the tiny cot just barely leaving a slither of room between them. Loki feels the heat on his back and the tremors start up again. Tony rubs his shoulder and the shock of it is enough to startle words from him.

 

“I j-just sometimes……get overwhelmed, I guess—” another loud sniffle, “—with…..I don’t know, existing, body-stuff, I guess, I don’t know.” And _what the fuck was that_? His face burns bright red.

 

“Body-stuff?” Tony asks.

 

Loki covers his eyes again because god, he’s really going to have this conversation. “I don’t know,” he says miserably. He exhales sharply in a mockery of a laugh, “I think that’s the problem. I don’t know.”

 

Tony rubs his shoulder again. “Do you……” A very long pause. “Want to become a girl?”

 

Loki chokes on a breath at just hearing it and the crying starts up again. “I don’t _know_ ,” he says, panicked at the thought that this is the first time he’s really admitted it. “I just feel different, I’ve always been different, fundamentally, I just feel— _wrong_.”

 

Tony takes a long while to answer and Loki is surprised he’s even bothered to try and figure out this fuckery, to figure out him.

 

“I’m sorry that I don’t understand what you’re going through,” he starts. “But you’re not _wrong_. There’s no such thing as a _wrong_ person.”

 

“Normal people don’t feel these things,” Loki says bitterly. “Normal people aren’t supposed to be this _confused_.”

 

“What are you confused about?”

 

Loki sucks in a breath. “Just……me. I’ve never known what…..what I was, or who I was and then I wasn’t even my father’s _son_ and—” He feels the sob coming so he holds his breath.

 

Tony gives his shoulder a squeeze this time. “Hey now, those are some lies. You are the most driven, ambitious person I’ve ever met. Of course you know who you are! You’re fucking Loki, star of the stars! So driven to be exactly what you want and nothing less that you’ve put up with _me_ for _weeks_. And if being you involves a dress now and then, who gives a fuck? It’s the twenty-first-century. It’s New York!”

 

“T-that’s not _me_ , it’s a tick, a bad habit, a _gross_ habit—”

 

Tony leans up until Loki looks at him with red, puffy eyes. “You are not a problem.” He says it so confidently and so assuredly that Loki is without words. Then he repeats it, “you are _not_ a problem. Everything about you is beautiful.”

 

Loki stares. And stares and stares and stares. Time is meaningless. He blinks away water and stares some more.

 

“I…….” he swallows. “You don’t mean that.” _Can’t_ _mean that_.

 

“I have never meant anything more in my life,” Tony says easily. Loki can’t look at that face anymore. He hiccups and blinks away more tears, but they’re better tears, softer, cathartic. He rolls over and buries his head under Tony’s chin, wanting to feel another body that isn’t his. Tony complies, snuffling and closing his arms around Loki until he’s wrapped in a warm cocoon of safe. They lay there in silence until Loki stops shaking.

 

He doesn’t believe him. But maybe it’s a start. A start of what, he’s not sure. But it’s got to be worth it.

 

“You feeling better?” Tony asks into his hair (still greasy, still horrible). Loki shrugs in his embrace. “Do you have any idea what will might make you feel better? No suggestion is stupid.”

 

Loki swallows again. “I don’t know.”

 

“What bad things are you feeling?”

 

Loki wiggles a little and tries not to think about Tony’s arms feeling his horrible waist. “….ugly, mostly, I guess.” He burns with embarrassment.

 

Tony squeezes him a little tighter. “What would make you feel pretty?”

 

Loki knows, but it’s still a _bad_ thought, still years and years of repented anger and humiliation and this one conversation just can’t undo all that. Still…..

 

_You are not a problem_.

 

“I guess cleaning this snot off of my face would be a start.”

 

Tony grins and nods.

 

Loki slowly follows Tony out of bed and into the tiny hall. Darcy apparently thought toast wasn’t enough and Loki sees her struggling with flipping several eggs in a frypan as he passes the kitchen. It’s strange. He doesn’t leave his room on Bad Days. He usually cries and sleeps and waits for tomorrow to begin. Walking feels brand new.

 

He follows Tony into the cool bathroom and a spike of discomfort shoots through him. He stands facing the shower, wringing his hands together. When Tony turns to him with a handful of tissues he frowns.

 

“I can’t handle the mirror right now,” Loki explains quickly. Tony nods without a word and gets to cleaning his face. Loki tries to help but finds himself still too shaky. A dose of self-loathing punches him at being babied like this, but he has a handle on it now and pushes it down.

 

“Do you want to take a shower?”

 

Loki shakes his head. If he catches even a glimpse of his naked body he might just vomit.

 

“Okay. There! All better,” Tony smiles, wiping the last bit of crust from Loki’s nose. “Never would guess it’s a bad day. You’ve got a good day glow.”

 

Loki, standing in his pyjamas with a stuffy nose and red-rimmed eyes at twelve in the afternoon, knows he looks anything but. Yet he smiles, even rolls his eyes.

 

“Hey!” Darcy’s voice calls from Loki’s room. “I went overboard and made the best fucking breakfast, you’re not gonna believe this shit—” She cuts off, and after a bit of shuffling her head sticks into the bathroom. “Oh hey! You’re out of bed!” She sounds stupidly proud and Loki is unwillingly reminded of his current mental state.

 

“We’re making him pretty for you,” Tony says, waving his handful of soiled tissues. Loki groans and buries his face.

 

“Oh right _on_ ,” Darcy grins, skipping into the room and pulling open her drawer. Loki’s face goes white.

 

“Darcy, I really don’t think—”

 

“Shush, spazz pants, I’m doing me.” She pulls out her makeup bag. “We’re all going to be pretty today. For nobody but us.” She pops the cap off of her foundation and starts applying a base layer.

 

Tony chuckles and makes grabby hands. “Hey. Hey. Hook me up.” Darcy passes him the eyeliner and Loki blushes furiously at the situation.

 

“Oh my god,” he mumbles into his hands.

 

“What, I can’t have a Look? Because this is my Look now.” Loki forces himself to watch as Tony draws a crude line across his top eyelid.

 

“What, Loki? Aren’t we sexy?” Darcy spins around, halfway through her third player of foundation that’s making her left cheek look like a lumpy blob. “On a scale of fuckable to fuckable, which Jeff Goldblum are we?”

 

“I hate both of you. So, so fucking much.”

 

When Tony sees the disaster Darcy’s painting he laughs, long and from the belly. “That is incredible.”

 

“Thank you. Nice cat-eye. Singular.” Tony winks. “Okay, okay. Let’s be serious. For Loki.”

 

Loki knows it’s all for him, to distract him, but his heart is swelling so much that he doesn’t mind.

 

Darcy and Tony continue to pamper and preen at each other. Darcy is done with her face quickly enough and is now tasked with making Tony look presentable, trying to keep up with his ridiculous suggestions. They ask Loki for opinions that he isn’t ready to give and don’t say anything when he becomes too overwhelmed and needs to step out to collect himself. When he comes back Tony has a dusting of blue on his eyes and a thick layer of eyeliner that actually looks quite fetching.

 

He grins. “I thought green at first but I didn’t want to steal your colour.”

 

Loki smiles shyly. He appreciates all of this. But this is a joke to them. Meaningless. Not real. Loki wants to pretend too, but for once, he wouldn’t be acting. It wouldn’t be a costume. Loki’s not afraid of wearing a character, he’s afraid he’ll be stripped bare.

 

Darcy looks at him with her own purple lidded eyes. She holds up her makeup brush. “You?”

 

Loki swallows. Tony jokes that he has to if they want to match and it helps calm his gut a little, so Loki nods and walks over, head firmly set on the wall of tiles. Darcy scrubs the brush in a pale dish of foundation and begins dusting Loki’s face. “Just—a little bit,” Loki says. Darcy smiles and nods. Somewhere behind him he hears Tony quietly leave the room.

 

When the foundation is done Darcy searches through her makeup strewn across the vanity. “Do you want pink blush?”

 

“I—I don’t know.” Stage makeup is different. He _has_ to wear it, or else he’ll glisten like a sweaty fish up on that stage. Darcy makes up his decision for him and brushes his cheeks firmly and _surely that’s too much_? She even adds some to his bandages.

 

“For the eyes?”

 

“I don’t—I don’t know.”

 

Darcy gives him a look. “What do you usually put on when you use my makeup?”

 

A bolt of panic thrills him. He’s caught off guard. “What?”

 

“It’s fine, I literally don’t care.” She leans in. “I actually bought a bunch of it for you, I only use like three of these colour tones and a lip gloss.” Loki’s mouth drops open. “So,” Darcy says, picking up an eye shadow pallet. “Yellow or green?”

 

Fighting seems pointless when there’s obviously no-one to fight against, so Loki quickly says green and closes his eyes.

 

After a while Tony knocks on the door frame and holds something up in his hand. It’s the Audrey Hepburn dress Loki eventually thanked him for and before Loki can argue Tony stops him. “—and! And!” He holds up a grey zipper jacket in the other hand. “A very manly jacket. Perfect combo.”

 

Loki stares in startled silence. Maybe this isn’t a joke.

 

“Sexy dress,” Darcy coos appreciatively.

 

“Oh yeah. Total wet dream material.”

 

Loki splutters. “You’re disgusting.”

 

“And you’re not.” Tony slides up to him and holds the garments out. Loki looks them over with his newly painted eyes and without thinking looks up at the mirror. His cheeks don’t seem as sunken as he thought they would be, his face full and handsome. He looks at the makeup on the vanity and the dress in Tony’s hand and doesn’t feel as scared as he was a moment ago. Maybe this is okay. Maybe this is fine.

 

And so now he’s here, sitting on the couch with his ( _his_ ) black dress awkwardly pulled over his sleep shirt and boxers, all enveloped in that massive grey jacket and squeezed between Darcy and Tony as they watch some action movie one of them suggested and eating afternoon breakfast meats.

 

And it is okay. And it is fine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the year long wait was a PRANK you all got PRANKTD bet you feel STUPID
> 
> anyway get ready for a life update to show just how fucking long this took to post this chapter:  
> I ended up graduating with a film diploma last year which is groovy, and I've currently been working as a filmmaker for an acquired brain injury support network (I get to work from home!!! and this still took a year!!!). i also popped into america for a bit (*winky waves at CashMoney*) and beijing to see what terrible decisions my sister is making, and in the end i've really just been movin and groovin  
> but i really really really want to finish this story so even though it may take another year stay! :D tuned! :D


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